Shorts: A Collection
by phati-sari
Summary: A collection of all my ficlets, oneshots, and other small works.
1. A Very Arshi Holi: Part 1

**A Very Arshi Holi: Part 1**

 _Author's Note: This is a very short story about Khushi and Arnav's second Holi. I wrote it out of nostalgia._

* * *

The estate was a riot of colour, the gardens a confused mess of tents, carnival rides, and gaudy decorations, and Arnav had a headache. He watched the organized chaos from the balcony that overlooked the grounds.

Holi.

Wandering down to the study, he rummaged through the cupboard until he found his painkillers and swallowed them dry as he walked to the kitchen. A glass of water and a sugarfree barfi later, he was ready to return to his prison of a room.

Arnav worked until the dull and impenetrable document he was reading blurred.

 _Maybe I should take a break and check on Khushi._

Khushi had been a vision in white this morning, prancing around the bedroom while excitedly making plans. She'd jumped on the bed, where he'd sat against the bedhead watching her, and plastered his face with kisses.

"This Holi is going to be great! We'll play with colours, we'll dance, we'll sing. Everyone will have so much fun, especially Aarav! And we won't have to pretend we don't remember it later!"

She'd bounced away after one last kiss, mumbling about staying away from _bhaang_. The reminder of last year's Holi – how they'd come together and then lied about remembering it afterwards – cut through him. Arnav was determined to make it up to her this year.

And yet, here he sat, two hours after Khushi had left with his family to celebrate outside. Aman had called as the morning _pooja_ was coming to a close. The Italian contract they'd been working on for two months was stuck in the obscure legal machinations of the Indian Business Council. He had spent the morning speaking with council members, politicians, and lawyers, sometimes on the phone, sometimes through videoconference.

Arnav stretched, blinking to clear his vision, and made a decision. It took him less than two minutes to throw off his three-piece suit and shirt, replacing them with a white shirt and dark jeans. He ran along the corridors, buckling his belt as he jogged down the stairs.

. . . . . . . . . .

 **Interlude: Earlier**

Khushi returned to their bedroom after the _pooja_ carrying a platter full of different coloured powders, with Aarav trailing behind her. Arnav lifted his son onto his lap as Khushi settled beside them on the sofa.

"Aarav," Khushi began, "since it's your first Holi with us, you can start. Take small amounts and don't make a mess. The mess is for outside."

"Yes, Mom," Aarav turned so Khushi couldn't see him roll his eyes.

Smiling, Arnav dipped his head and quietly reminded his son not to annoy his mother on one of her favourite holidays of the year.

"Sorry, Dad," he whispered.

"Happy Holi, Mom," Aarav took a dash of orange powder and streaked it across his mother's cheek.

Khushi laughed delightedly and kissed his hair before smearing him with green powder, "Happy Holi _beta_. I hope you enjoy your first Holi with us."

"Happy Holi, Dad," Arnav grinned as Aarav turned to him and applied blue powder to his cheek.

"Happy Holi, big guy," he rubbed purple onto Aarav's unmarked cheek.

"Touch Papa's feet," Khushi instructed.

"No. Khushi, he doesn't have to. Aarav, don't."

"He's your son, Arnav-ji. It's his responsibility. And his right."

Sighing, Arnav conceded, and Aarav slid off his lap. He bent to touch first his feet then Khushi's. They blessed him in unison and Khushi fed him sweets.

"Can I go and play outside now?" he asked around a _laddoo_ , "NK Chachu said he wanted to show me something."

"Okay," Arnav nodded, "but stay with your Chachu. There'll be quite a crowd and I don't want you to get hurt."

"Thanks, Dad," Aarav leaned over to kiss his cheek before rushing away.

When they were alone, Arnav bent towards Khushi, brushing her hair from her face with two fingers. He dipped his head, listening to her breath stall, feeling her fingers slide up his arms to clutch his shoulders.

He swore as his phone rang.

Arnav slid his Bluetooth device on and greeted one of his lawyers while grimacing an apology at his wife. Khushi idly toyed with her plaited hair as she watched.

Smiling, he pinched some red powder between his fingers and gently flicked Khushi's nose, watching as her blush spread across her cheeks. Dipping his fingers in red again, Arnav streaked her cheeks before allowing his fingers to slip down her neck and across her collarbone. She slapped his hand away. When she bent to touch his feet, he quickly reached down to stop her, shaking his head.

"Mr Raizada? Are you still there?"

The lawyer's voice had jolted his attention back to the phone call. He winked at Khushi before answering the questions the man posed. Seconds later, her gentle fingers were on his cheek. He looked up, losing the track of his thoughts mid-sentence, and she took advantage of his distraction to smear colour on his other cheek. She retreated with a grin, her fingers stained red.

But she didn't stop there. She took some yellow powder and dotted it behind his ear, whispering that she'd marked him as hers where no one else would see.

"Mr Raizada? Mr Raizada?"

"Y-yes, I'm here. Sorry, could you repeat that last part, I think there was a problem with the connection."

Khushi plucked the pen from his fingers and wrote on the hand closest to her – _Come downstairs when you can. Love you_. She kissed his forehead in farewell, picked up her platter, and hurried away.


	2. A Very Arshi Holi: Part 2

**A Very Arshi Holi: Part 2**

Now, Arnav dodged countless revelers as he strode through his gardens, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt and looking for his family. Hunting for his wife. He found Akash and Payal on a garden swing, Payal resting her head on his shoulder as he held her hand. Their faces were a mess of colour. They were taking it easy this year – Payal had announced that she was pregnant last month.

"Arnav-ji! Come and join us," called his wife's sister.

He smiled as he approached them.

"We haven't put any colour on you yet, Bhai!" Akash observed, reaching for a platter of powder.

"Are you two taking care of yourselves?" Arnav asked, ignoring Akash.

"Yes, Arnav-ji," Payal giggled, "Akash is taking care of me very well. Don't worry about me."

"Good. Akash, make sure she has plenty of water and stays out of the sun."

"Arnav-ji, you worry about me too much. I'll be fine."

Arnav ignored her and narrowed his eyes at his brother until he nodded.

"Akash!" Payal gaped at her husband, "Don't you agree with him. Last week he carried me down the stairs! I can walk perfectly fine, jeth-ji."

Arnav just shrugged at his sister-in-law.

"Yes Bhai," Akash stood, grinning at the two of them, "Now ... the colours?"

Arnav sighed. It seemed that last year's lapse – the dancing, the _bhaang_ , playing Holi – had destroyed a lifetime of remaining aloof. He allowed Akash and Payal to apply colour before returning the favour and embracing them. He blocked them when they tried to touch his feet as custom required. Arnav left them draped over each other on the swing and called Khushi, but it went to voicemail before she answered. He typed out a text instead.

A cursory search of the tents led him to Nani, Mama, and Mami, who greeted him enthusiastically.

"Chhote!" Nani looked at him, her eyes a little out of focus, "did you ... solve ... your problem?"

 _Bhaang_.

"No, Nani. I'm taking a break."

"My name is Laila," announced Mami with a hiccup, offering her hand. Arnav shook it warily.

"And this is Qays ... No ... Majnu ... Majnoon ..." she continued, pointing at Mama.

"Manu?" Mama blinked at his wife, "When did I change my name?"

"You just shut-up-iyai. You ... you is not knowing any-anything," Mami retorted in her special brand of English.

"You look like you're enjoying yourselves," Arnav observed.

"Yes!" Nani smiled, "Khushi-bityaa makes the best _bhaang_."

"Tell the truths, Arnav-bitwaa," Mami slurred her words, "Are you looking for Khushi-bityaa?"

"He's always running towards his wife instead of running away," Mama shook his head at Arnav, "Silly boy. All that expensive schooling. Harvard. Wasted."

Nani and Mami shook their heads ruefully.

"A waste," agreed Mami.

Deciding it was best to leave them to their intoxicated fun, Arnav hastily completed the Holi rituals and asked for their blessings before inventing an excuse. Mami yelled after him.

"Catch Khushi-bityaa before she flies away, Arnav! Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!"

Next, Arnav searched the pavilion where the dancers had gathered, wheeling in dynamic rainbows as they gyrated to the music pumping through the sound system. Drummers added to the confusion. He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing his headache to stay away, and searched for Khushi.

Instead, his eyes found NK, Aarav, and Di. Arnav battled the crowds to reach them, trying to ignore the worry that was stirring inside him.

 _Why isn't Khushi picking up her phone?_

NK had applied to a number of universities – mostly in the US and UK – and was waiting to hear back. The difference in the timing of semesters between Australia and the rest of the world had allowed him to extend his trip, but everyone knew that he would be leaving soon. Khushi prayed to her Devi Maiyaa that NK be sent to London – she'd decided that he and Lavanya would be perfect for each other and wanted them to meet. Arnav had tried to explain how big London was but Khushi was adamant that her Devi Maiyaa would handle such trivial details.

And his Di, his sweet Di, was recovering well from her ordeal. She occupied her days by working at a local orphanage that Aman had recommended and seemed much happier. Overexcited as usual, Khushi had taken this as a sign that Aman-ji and Di were destined to be together and was currently engaged in some outrageous plan with NK to this end. Arnav hadn't decided how he felt about it.

"Nannav!"

NK's high-pitched screech threatened what little peace Arnav had managed to gain. He tried to smile at his cousin before indicating that they should retreat to somewhere quieter. Outside the pavilion, Di took his hands between hers.

"Happy Holi, Chhote!" she grinned, her features partially obscured behind green and purple powder.

"Happy Holi, Di," he embraced her.

"Happy Colour-Day, Nannav!" NK clapped him on the back, "We have to smear colours all over you!"

Rolling his eyes, Arnav allowed Di to apply a tilak on his forehead before painting his cheeks with blue powder. He applied pink to her in return and took her blessings. Arnav ducked when NK reached for him, grinning, and was rewarded with green powder in his hair. Scowling, he grabbed a fistful of purple powder and threw it at his cousin while Di and Aarav laughed.

"Nannav that wasn't fair," NK complained, running his hands through his hair to dislodge some of the mess.

"Dad, can I have a water gun?"

"Sure," Arnav knelt in front of his son, "but make sure you ask people before you soak them. Some people might mind."

"Okay."

Aarav walked to a nearby table where water guns were proudly displayed. Arnav turned to his siblings.

"Have either of you seen Khushi?"

"She was making _bhaang_ about half an hour ago but I haven't seen her since," said Di.

"She's not picking up her phone," he told his sister.

"Oh yes, she left her phone with me," Di fished it out of her handbag, "Oh, look. You called her."

"Unbelievable," Arnav ran a hand through his hair, "why does she even have that thing if she won't keep it with her? Give me that."

 _Khushi. Where the hell are you?_

If she wasn't with Payal, Nani, or Di, he didn't know where to look for her.

"Nannav, I'll help you look for Khushi-ji."

"Okay. Thanks. Go around the front of the house and I'll go around the back. We'll meet back here in half an hour."

NK nodded.

"I'll stay with Aarav," said Di.

"Thanks, Di," Arnav tried to smile reassuringly at his sister as he pocketed Khushi's phone and walked away.


	3. A Very Arshi Holi: Part 3

**A Very Arshi Holi: Part 3**

First, he checked where the _bhaang_ was being prepared. The men told him that Khushi had left ages ago but couldn't say where she'd gone. Then, he methodically checked the places she'd told him she'd visit this morning – the tents full of water guns, the pavilions full of dancers, the lines for the carnival rides she enjoyed. She wasn't anywhere.

The only place left was the gazebo. Memories bombarded Arnav as he strode across the grounds – Khushi taking his hand and holding it against her heart, Khushi telling him that she needed him to answer a question, Khushi asking him why her heartbeat quickens whenever they're together. But the gazebo was empty when he got there.

The sudden uncoiling in his chest took his breath away. He hadn't really been worried – Khushi wouldn't have left the estate – but her absence was starting to gnaw at him. Arnav hurried back to where he was supposed to meet NK, his eyes darting left and right, hoping for a glimpse of her white salwaar suit, her long plait, her brilliant smile.

"Arnav-ji!"

He turned to see a blur of white launch itself at him, and then he was staggering backwards from the force of the impact. Khushi snuggled into him, giggling happily. He took a moment to breathe her in.

Anger slowly replaced his worry.

"Khushi, where the hell were you? Why don't you have your phone? Do you know how long I've been looking for you?"

"Arnav-ji," she mumbled, "my Arnav-ji. No one else's. Mine."

"Are you even listening to me? I want to know where you were."

Arnav tried to pull away, but she only held him tighter, repeating his name.

"Khushi?" worry seeped back into his voice, "Talk to me, Khushi, what happened?"

He gently detached Khushi's arms and stepped back to look at her. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and she had trouble focusing on him. She'd had _bhaang_.

"Khushi, you said you wouldn't have any _bhaang_ this year," he reminded her.

She blinked – two long, slow blinks – and then shook her head.

"N-noooooo," her mouth formed a perfect O, "I didn't have any _bhaang_. Khushiii Kumaaari G-Gupta Singh Raizadaaa doesn't have _bhaang_."

"And yet," he fought a smile, "here you are. Under the influence."

"Aaammm Noooot."

Khushi staggered for no apparent reason and Arnav's hands tightened on her arms.

"Who gave you the _bhaang_?"

"Akaddu Singh La-Laad Governor," she said, gazing at him in adoration.

"Focus, Khushi. Who gave you the _bhaang_?"

"No one. Di gave me _thandai_. Two glasses," Khushi held up four fingers, "No wait. Three." Now she held up five.

Smiling, Arnav took her hand and kissed each finger in turn, "I can't believe you fell for the same trick again."

"No!" she jerked her hand away, "My fingers will disappear!"

"Your fingers ... what?"

"When you kiss me I feel like I'm going to disappear," she explained, holding her hand two inches from her face and inspecting it, "Good. All my fingers are still there."

"What am I going to do with you, you crazy girl? Come here."

Arnav slid her arm around his neck and scooped her up, cradling her against his chest. She clasped her hands behind his neck and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Laddoo," she murmured, "and chaat. Golgappe. Jalebi. Biryani. Potato curry."

"What are you doing?" he asked as he walked towards the house.

"Jalebi," she repeated, "and chaat. Can you bring me golgappe?"

"I'll take you out tomorrow," Arnav promised, "We can visit your parents on the way. But right now, you need to sleep this off."

"Stop, stop, stop!" Khushi beat at his shoulders until he obeyed, and then squirmed to get down.

"Arnav-ji, I have something ... sss-something very im-important to do," she said, slurring her words slightly.

"Like what?"

"You have to catch me first!"

Arnav reached out for her as she dashed off but her dupatta slipped through his fingers. Muttering a curse, he ran after her. Khushi led him on a merry chase, laughing as she ducked and wove between revelers, and stopped at a table laden with copper and brass glasses.

"You have to drink some."

"No. Khushi, no."

"Arnav-ji! Don't make me threaten you like last year!"

She handed him a glass. "Drink, you prrromisssed."

He closed his eyes, his headache threatening to reappear. _Mad. She's going to drive me mad._ Arnav took a moment to text NK and let him know that Khushi was safe.

"I promised I'd celebrate Holi with you," he reminded her, "I didn't say anything about _bhaang_."

"Don't you love me?" she pouted.

"Khushi."

"That's my name. Khush-eeeee. Not yours."

Arnav bit back a laugh as she chanted her own name, punctuating her song randomly with 'What-the', 'Arnav-ji,' and 'jalebi".

"I'm going to regret this."

Khushi squealed as he drank and bounced into his arms as soon as he put the empty glass down.

"You love me, you love me, you love me," she sang.

His problems slowly started to fade away as he spun Khushi around, leaving him free to admire her as she danced. Her plait swung out behind her as she twirled, her eyes were bright, and her smile lit up his universe. Arnav picked up another glass and downed it hurriedly, his eyes never leaving his wife.

She took his hand and led him into the crowds, jumping in circles and singing nonsense. A curious lightness spread all over his body and he couldn't remember why he'd been so stressed earlier. He had the world's most beautiful woman by his side and his family was the happiest they'd been in a long time. What more could life offer? Khushi danced around him, waving her arms in the air and laughing delightedly when he joined in. He steadied her when she lost her balance.

Khushi's smile was like a siren call, and he was unable to resist. He held her by the waist and pulled her flush against him, not caring who saw. She gasped as her back collided with his chest, knocking the air from her lungs. When she looked back at him, Arnav saw her gaze slide from his eyes and lock onto his mouth. Heat flared through him.

"Let's go," he took her hand and led her away.

The gazebo was still empty. Arnav sat against one of its pillars and pulled Khushi down next to him. She snuggled into his arm. It was much quieter here, the music and drums reduced to a low vibration. Khushi hummed something while fiddling absently with one of the buttons on his shirt. He felt pleasantly light-headed. Why couldn't he feel like this all the time?

"Arnav-ji?" she stirred some minutes later.

"Mmmm?"

"I love you more than jalebi. More than channa ... mmm channa ... Do you have any channa?"

Arnav checked his pockets. Phone. Keys. Wallet. Another phone. No channa.

"No baby, I don't" he told his wife, devastated, "I'm sor-sorry."

"But I want jalebi."

"Ohhhhhh, jalebi, not channa."

He checked his pockets again but there was still no jalebi. Maybe Khushi had some in her pockets. He patted her down. Lots of inviting curves. No jalebi.

"That ... that tickles," she complained.

"Jalebi," he explained what he was going.

"Channa," she replied.

Kitchen. That was where the food was.

"Khushi. There's food in the ... in the ... kitchen. Kitchen."

She nodded against him and they stood up slowly, using the pillar for support.

"Arnav-ji, tell the ... the ground to stop moving."

"Stop moving," he ordered the concrete floor of the gazebo.

It didn't listen. They staggered towards the house, using a side entrance that took them directly to the kitchen. Khushi released him to sink against the cabinets. Arnav found the barfi and offered it to her but she slapped his hand away and lay down on the tiles.

"Mmmmm, it's nice and cold."

Cold? Now that she mentioned it, he did feel hot. That looked like fun. He lowered himself next to her, pressing his cheek against the tiles.

"Cold," he murmured, closing his eyes.

"No," Khushi poked his arm, "no sleeping. I want channa."

Channa. Yes. He found a container of channa in the pantry and gave it to Khushi, who struggled upright. They sat shoulder-to-shoulder on the floor as they ate.

Khushi reached for one of the strings of marigolds that hung from the walls and wrapped it around neck.

"Now I'm pretty."

"You're alllwaaaaysss pretty," he told her, kissing her forehead.

"You're a liar," she mumbled as she snuggled into his shoulder.

"Honest. I have the most, extra prettiest wife."

Khushi placed her hand over his heart, "Dhak-dhak."

"Love," he agreed.

His eyes slowly drooped closed, his breathing slowing to match Khushi's.

"Chhote? Khushi-ji? Wake up."

Arnav reluctantly blinked awake, wondering what his sister was doing in their bedroom.

"Di! We're sleeping," his eyes closed again.

"Sshhh, Chhote. You're in the kitchen. Get up."

 _What?_

He opened his eyes to find that he was, indeed, in the kitchen. He sat with his back against the cabinets and Khushi's head in his lap. She had rubbed colour onto his jeans in her sleep. His shirt was a mess, there was a container of channa next to him, and there was colour streaked all over the usually pristine white tiles of the kitchen.

"What happened?" he asked his sister.

"You, Khushi-ji, and _bhaang_."

* * *

The End


	4. Fourteenth of February

**Fourteenth of February**

Every year, on the fourteenth of February, Payal awoke to the sound of her alarm. She would stir reluctantly, and then sit up in excitement before rousing her slumbering husband. He would blink at her before smiling.

It was always a day of excitement, their wedding anniversary.

On the other side of the house, Khushi would wake as sunlight crept across the floor of her bedroom. She was always the first to get up, dropping a quick kiss to her husband's forehead before rushing to the bathroom, eager to get downstairs.

Every year, the entire family stood in front of Devi Maiyaa, asking her to bless Payal and Aakash and preserve their marital bliss. Even Arnav made it downstairs, participating in the rituals to ask for a bright future for his brother, sister-in-law, and their entire family. The atmosphere would be joyful, punctuated with laughter as Mami cracked jokes and Mama rolled his eyes.

No one noticed that Khushi took slightly longer in her prayers than the others, that Arnav stood beside her with his head bowed until she was done, that they shared a small smile before turning to the family. Khushi shared everything with her Devi Maiyaa, of course her list of entreaties would be long.

Afterwards, Khushi would bounce around her Jiji and Jija, gently teasing them and handing them presents - a photo album one year, a tie and earrings the year after that, a candle-lit dinner some years later. And one year, a weeklong trip to the hotel where they'd spent their honeymoon, a chance to rekindle the warmth that had been lost by having two children in the space of three years.

Every year, there would be an afternoon spent with family and friends – good food and even better company. Their home would be bright and fragrant, decorated in bright lights and brighter flowers arranged in ever more elaborate ways. Di liked to outdo herself every time.

Arnav would bellow at the caterers, harass the decorators, and Khushi would calm him with a gentle touch to a shoulder, a caress to his cheek, the soft press of her fingers against his. He wanted everything to be perfect. He'd tainted their wedding day. He would not taint their anniversaries.

Every year, Aakash arranged for a private dinner – sometimes a candle-lit affair in one of Delhi's top restaurants, sometimes a private picnic under the stars. Some years they took their children with them – for what was the point in celebrating their marriage without the two stars that lit it up everyday? Some years they went alone, leaving Nani and Mami to corral the tornadoes – for what was marriage after children, if not a string of stolen, secret moments?

No one noticed that Khushi and Arnav disappeared after breakfast every year, claiming to have eaten lunch when they returned. There was so much to do and organize, a flurry of colour and chaos. Who cared if Chhote and Khushi-ji took a break? They worked for their families every day of the year.

Mami would concentrate her efforts on the party, wanting the world to know how happy her son and his wife are. She counted the presents eagerly, boasted to her friends about her angelic grandsons, and preened when they praised her happy home. Her son was happy. It was all she'd ever wanted.

No one noticed that Khushi carefully selected an outfit of blue and red to wear every year, that she decorated her wrists with blue and red bangles, and applied a blue and red bindi to her forehead. Shantivan's elder daughter-in-law was fond of bright colours – the brighter the better – and why not? They suited her personality to a T.

Mama couldn't always be there for his son, but he never forgot this special day. He would call from wherever he was in the world and congratulate Aakash, wishing him many more years of marital bliss. He would speak to his grandsons over video calls, teasing them and promising them presents, reminding them to be good, well behaved children for their parents.

No one thought it odd that, every year, Arnav and Khushi had dinner alone. It was Aakash and Payal's wedding anniversary, yes, but it was also Valentine's Day, a day of love. The family smiled at the thought of their Chhote giving into the commercialism of it all, arranging private dinners with his wife and lavishing her with presents. Marriage had changed their stubborn, arrogant son and turned him into a romantic.

They couldn't know that, every year, Khushi presented her husband with the small container of sindoor she kept near the mirror, and that he kissed her forehead tenderly before placing the red powder in the part of her hair. They would stand, still and silent, until one of them reached for the other, both trying to hide their tears.

Nani loved this day. It was a day of happiness, where both her grandsons celebrated their love. One celebrated his wedding anniversary and the other simply celebrated. Some years, they took their children and others they went alone. Chhote had the hardest time leaving them behind. He would hug Aarav, again and again, reassuring him that they would take him along if they could, but they would be returning too late and he had school the next day. Then he would turn his attention to his daughter, the laughing butterfly they'd named after both their mothers, spinning her around and kissing her and reminding her that Daddy loves her.

They couldn't know that, every year, Arnav and Khushi covertly packed a picnic lunch and drove to a garden. They sat on the white benches and ate as they asked for his mother's blessing, for her parent's blessing. They held hands and smiled at a tree that still had 'Arnav' carved into its trunk, and if either of them cried, the other silently wiped the tears away without comment. What was left to be said?

Di always visited at breakfast, making the short journey between her home and theirs in a car that Arnav sent over, laughing and teasing Aakash and Payal before cuddling their children. Her ordeal had left her barren but she found joy in her nephews and niece. Her Chhote and Khushi-ji didn't escape her attention. She bantered with her brother and watched him blush as she brought up his special plans for the night. He organized something special for her bhabi every year, and her husband helped him every step of the way. Aman was the kindest soul she'd ever met, her brother's manager and unlikely friend.

Every year, Arnav took his wife to eat under the stars. Sometimes it was the dhaba on the way to Nainital, sometimes it was a restaurant with outdoor seating. Once it was a river cruise. Dinner would always be followed by dessert – sugar free jalebi made by his Jalebi Rani. They would return home, kiss their children good night if they'd been forced to leave them behind, and retreat, at long last, to their sanctuary.

As they lay wrapped in a blanket and each other by their poolside, counting stars, no one knew that they weren't thinking of St Valentine at all.

"Happy Anniversary, Khushi," he would whisper.

"Happy Anniversary," she would reply.


	5. A Moment of Unravelling: Part 1

**A Moment of Unravelling: Part 1**

 **Khushi**

Khushi's legs protested as she stirred. She blinked and squinted into the light, wondering if she'd forgotten to close the curtains last night.

Her heart pounded in her ears as her bleary thoughts caught up with what her eyes were showing her. She was not at home – not in her childhood bedroom in Lucknow nor in the small room at Bua-ji's. She was in _his_ bedroom, and with that realisation came the memories of the day before.

His smile as he stood on Bua-ji's veranda, the amusement in his eyes as he posed as a waiter, and his gentle flirtation that had culminated in that moment next to the mirror. Shyam. The terrace. Her panic and desperation to find Arnav-ji. His unyielding anger as everything unravelled, his demands and her tearful acquiescence, the questions and accusations, and then his refusal to give her the answers she desperately needed.

She'd waited for him to return, leaning against this green sofa as hour after hour had trickled by, and had fallen asleep waiting. A quick glance at the untouched bed told her that he hadn't returned.

Suddenly, her heart ached for him.

 _Stop it, Khushi. You should hate him._

But she didn't, not even now. He'd hurt her, _destroyed_ her yet again, but she craved the comfort of his touch in the same irrational way that she had on Diwali. He'd done everything but rip her still-beating heart from her chest and crush it under his heel that night, but as he'd walked away, she'd wanted to beg him to soothe her even though he'd _caused_ the pain in the first place.

Khushi wiped her tears on her dupatta before glancing at the clock.

 _Everyone will be at the morning pooja. I can ... Jiji and Anjali-ji and Nani-ji will have to listen to me. I'll tell them ... I'll ..._

But she didn't know what to say. She couldn't reveal that her marriage was a sham, a compromise, a six-month contract he'd compelled her to agree to by holding Jiji's marriage hostage. She couldn't reveal that she wasn't his wife, not really, that he'd refused to be her husband, that she wasn't their daughter-in-law.

Ignoring the protest of her muscles as she stood, Khushi distracted herself with practical details. She needed to shower, brush her teeth, and tidy herself up before venturing downstairs. She glanced at the closed door of his bathroom but quickly dismissed the idea. Using his bathroom seemed like a breach, a gross overstep into his personal space.

 _Why should you care? He forced you to elope with him. He's put you in this position._

 _But he also said that he would never grant me the status of his wife._

Remembering the upstairs guest room that Lavanya-ji had lived in during her stay, Khushi decided to shower there. It was still inside his home, but wasn't his personal, private, intimate space. But as she opened the French doors that led to the corridor, Khushi realised that her intended journey would take her across the first floor: past Anjali-ji's room, past Nani-ji's room, past Mami-ji and Mama-ji's wing and – here she blushed slightly – past Jiji and Jija-ji's room. The risk of exposure was too high.

She shut the door with a sigh and contemplated her options. She didn't have many. Attending the pooja without proper ablutions was out of the question and skipping it altogether would send the wrong message. His family was angry, yes, at both her and Arnav-ji, but she couldn't fail their expectations of her as a proper _bahu_. There was no other choice.

Her heart hammered as she approached the bathroom, glancing back every few seconds in case he returned and caught her.

 _Please protect me, Devi Maiyya._

She stepped inside, recalling with a bitter smile the one time she'd been in here, when Lavanya-ji had been dressed as his bride. The irony of it all brought fresh tears to her eyes.

 _That's enough, Khushi._

Then she'd been too distracted to take it all in. It hadn't occurred to her that she was stepping into his personal space, that her presence could be interpreted as a violation of his privacy, but now she felt it keenly.

It was a generous room decorated in blues and whites – blue tiles, white vanity, blue mats and thick white towels. But she didn't linger on the sights, because as she took her first breath, the scent of him accosted her. It was shocking and dizzying and for a few seconds, she was overwhelmed.

The space was fragrant with him. _Of course it was_. His soap, his aftershave, his cologne, all mixed together into _that_ scent, the one that lingered in her hair and on her clothes after their every encounter. But a hundred times more potent.

It almost brought her to her knees.

She'd thought she'd run out tears, but as her wounds opened anew the pain found expression in salt and water. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the vanity.

Arnav. Arnav Singh Raizada.

Even in his absence he was overwhelmingly present, a hole in her heart and a bruise on her soul, the centre of a landscape of shattered dreams and broken promises.

 _Why?_

Why had he done it? Why had they eloped? What pain, _what helplessness_ , had compelled him to force her into this, a mockery of the marriage she'd dreamt of for so long? Why hadn't he just asked? Devi Maiyya knew she would've said yes before the words left his mouth.

Khushi slid off her bangles and jewellery, placing them neatly on the vanity.

And why ... why had she agreed?

Oh, she could tell herself it was for her sister, that standing at the poolside and watching as Jiji and Aakash-Jija-ji had waited and waited ... and waited ... for Arnav-ji to appear had instilled a terrible fear in her. And truthfully, it had.

But Jiji had been married, the vows exchanged, _mangalsutra_ hanging from her neck and _sindoor_ shining in her hair when Khushi had left with Arnav-ji.

 _Why didn't I protest?_

She hadn't argued or tried to reason with him. She hadn't tried to back out, even when his leverage had disappeared.

Khushi reached behind to untie the _dori_ of her _choli_ , closing her eyes against the memory of her thoughts as she'd changed into it yesterday. She'd imagined, absurdly, his hands at her back, his fingers tracing patterns across her waist, his warmth as he pulled her against his body. It was red trimmed with blue and she'd be lying if she claimed to have picked it without thinking of him. He liked red.

A sob shuddered through her as she stepped into the shower cubicle. There was no soap, for which she was thankful. The idea of using his bathroom was already uncomfortably intimate; the thought of using the soap his hands had touched bordered on abhorrent.

She was quick, running his shampoo through her hair at lightning pace as she prayed that he didn't return to find her here. She rinsed, and startled as her fingers came away stained red.

 _Blood?_

 _No, Khushi. Sindoor._

Her knees buckled as the wave of despair hit her. She was married. Married to the man who, just a day ago, had been the _rajkumar_ of her dreams but now resembled some demon from a nightmare. She knelt on the tiled floor, howling her misery as water cascaded around her.

She ached for him. Not _that_ ache, although, may Devi Maiyya forgive her, that ache was still there when she thought of his smile or the warmth of his hands or his mouth at her ear as they'd danced on stage. But it wasn't just her body that hungered for his touch. Her soul craved his kindness and concern. Her heart craved the love she'd thought she'd seen in his eyes.

It was a long time before she regained some of her composure. Standing, she reached for the shower gel. It was a bright blue and scented lightly with aloe. It was expensive, judging by the way it lathered and felt against her skin. She washed quickly, trying not to think about what she was doing.

Then, she was standing at the mirror, a white towel tied around her and another wrapped in her hair. She wiped fog from the mirror and looked at herself.

She didn't look different. She could almost convince herself that yesterday had been a terrible nightmare if not for the _mangalsutra_ at her neck. She touched it, the tiny, simple necklace that represented her dedication to their union and marked her as his. Khushi knew that he hadn't picked it out – perhaps Aman-ji or the priests at the temple had arranged it – but it was still special because _he_ had bestowed it on her.

 _You're weak. That rakshas has ruined your life and you're standing here, pining for him._

Grimacing, Khushi shimmied into her clothes from yesterday, her fingers flying over hooks and buttons and doris. She muttered to herself as she draped her dupatta across her midriff, practising the apology she would give Nani-ji and Anjali-ji and Jiji. She slid her bangles back on her wrists – _a married woman is never without her kangan_ , she recalled her mother telling her – but gathered up the rest of last night's jewellery into her dupatta.

 _Maybe Jiji will lend me some of her clothes._

She stepped out of the bathroom, feeling more in control now that she had a plan, and placed her jewellery neatly underneath the mirror. She fussed with it, trying to force the pieces to take up less space before giving up. She was going to be late.

A quick glance in the mirror – her eyes were still red and slightly puffy but there was nothing to be done – and then she was at the doors.

Khushi froze.

 _Sindoor._

She worried at her bottom lip as her mind ticked furiously. If she'd been more prepared, she could have crept downstairs and snuck some from the pooja supplies, but as things stood ...

A low, jaunty whistle told her that someone was in the corridor, so Khushi opened the door to peek out. She sighed in relief. Jai Prakash, the youngest of the Prakash brothers who worked for her new family, was wandering towards the stairs.

"Jai Prakash-ji!"

He stopped and looked around before spying her.

"Yes Khushi-ji, uhh, I mean, Khushi-bha-bhabi."

 _Khushi-bhabi._

Her pulse stuttered at the words but she did her best to ignore it. She opened the door wider so they had a clear view of each other but was careful not to step out of the room.

"I wondered if you would ..." her hands clenched and unclenched, "You see ... I need ... I need _sindoor_."

He stared, nonplussed, and his eyes widened as he grasped the situation. She supposed that the servant's quarters were rife with gossip after last night.

"I ... uhh ... I can check if we have some in the storeroom. Or downstairs ..." he trailed off, seemingly as nervous and out of his depth as she was.

"Yes," she smiled gratefully, "I'd appreciate that."

He rushed away, and Khushi was left standing in the doorway, her hands twisted into her dupatta as she waited. She cursed the delay but knew that her lateness to the morning pooja was forgivable breach when compared to appearing in public without his sindoor.

Jai Prakash-ji returned quickly, a small gold container cradled in his hands.

"Do you need anything else, bhabi?" he asked as Khushi took it gratefully.

 _Clothes. My family. I want my life back._

"No, thank you Jai Prakash-ji. Oh wait. A toothbrush, please, for after breakfast."

He lingered uncertainly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again before speaking.

"Does Arnav-bhaiya need his coffee now? And his medicine?"

 _I don't even know where my husband is, Jai Prakash-ji, how can I tell you if he needs his coffee or his medication?_

"Arnav-ji isn't home," she said hesitantly, "you can ask him when he returns."

At this, the man in front of her jerked in surprise. "He left on his jog already? I didn't see him."

Khushi didn't correct him. "Thank you, Jai Prakash-ji."

He smiled at the gentle dismissal as he walking away. Khushi looked down at the container in her hand.

 _Well. One problem solved._

Her hand trembled as she applied the red powder to the part of her hair. She frowned at her reflection when she was finished. It didn't look as neat as she'd hoped.

 _Practice makes perfect._

Her heart wrenched again, and she turned from her reflection with a huff. She was an idiot, to be clinging so tightly to her dream even now. Shaking her head, she crossed the threshold of her new room and ventured out, hope beginning to blossom in her heart.

She'd fix this, as she always fixed everything. She would win her family back, both of them.

 _And maybe_ , her heart whispered, _I can win back my husband too._


	6. A Moment of Unravelling: Part 2

**A Moment of Unravelling: Part 2**

 **Arnav**

Arnav watched as Khushi pulled a bottle out of the bag her Bua-ji had delivered and ran the contents through her hair. Something about the sight nagged at him, but he couldn't identify it, and then he was distracted by the jasmine fragrance that wafted through the open door as she worked.

 _Her hair. The scent is in her hair._

Feeling as though he'd solved some great mystery, Arnav leaned into the sofa and turned to the file he was reading.

Pretending to read.

His mind wasn't interested in the latest stock reports of a rival company, not when she sat mere feet away on the outdoor lounge, her silken hair fanned across her shoulders and back. His fingers itched to tangle in it, to test if his memory did it justice.

Arnav closed his eyes, cursing the part of him that still wanted her. The part of him that still loved her.

The day had started badly, with her Bua-ji's refusal to take her home for that stupid ritual, and had only gotten worse. Her brief disappearance, his worry and panic, all those missed calls. And when he'd found her hiding in the temple crowd, doing her best to avoid him, he'd channeled all the tumult inside him into anger.

 _Why is she so frustrating? I hate her._

Or at least, he wanted to hate her so badly that it felt like the same thing. But he knew it wasn't, even as he'd shouted the words at her two nights ago. And she, in that brutally honest way of hers, had declared him unworthy of love.

It shouldn't have hurt. But this woman, this _girl_ from Lucknow who'd never backed down from any challenge, had made him feel worthy. It was a brief, bright thing, a magnesium spark in the darkness, but it had felt real, and he'd given in completely.

 _Maybe that's what I can't forgive. Not that she betrayed me, but that I allowed myself to believe that she wouldn't._

Arnav threw the file onto the table and turned to his laptop. The backlog of emails that waited for him was a welcome distraction – contracts to approve, plans to execute, designs to implement.

He'd been weak today. Only for a moment but it'd been long enough for him to slip and reveal that she'd hurt him. Her eyes had been wide and her voice soft as she'd asked for an explanation, acting as though she couldn't fathom a world where she could hurt him so much. _She doesn't know_ , a part of him argued, _she's clueless_ , but the louder, pragmatic part of him had echoed Shyam's words. _Now the only thing that stands in our way is Rani Sahiba_.

His rage returned, a red tide he was barely in control of at the best of times. And now when he saw her, sitting on that chair and fiddling with her hair, he wondered if she knew how effective her seduction was. She'd always known, hadn't she, how to trap him with just a flick of her eyes and the briefest of touches. Even now, his body reacted to the sight of her hair splayed across the swell of her, her lips parted slightly. His blood warmed, his desire whispered soft encouragements – touch her, taste her, _take her_.

Arnav watched out of the corner of his eye as she packed away her things and came through the open doors. Khushi went straight to the bathroom; a yellow towel and change of clothes bundled in her arms, and locked the door behind her. His mind filled in the silence – her clothes sliding off her, her hair cascading down her bare back, her hand reaching for the tap – before he heard the shower run.

 _Goddamn it. I have to get away from her._

Then he was at the poolside, desperately trying to lose himself in his plants. They were usually a source of solace, a calming influence, but tonight they were in danger of being destroyed as his hands trembled and his breath came in ragged gasps.

 _I don't know what I want. I'm sorry Mamma. I'm trying so hard to hate her._

When she'd made sugar free _kheer_ , he'd forced another edition of the theatre that was now their lives – _Arnav-and-Khushi-hamesha_ – for his sister. And somehow, between feeding her and feeding himself and wiping off the mess with his thumb, he'd forgotten it wasn't real. For a brief, golden moment he'd been Arnav and she'd been _his_ Khushi and nothing else had existed. Until reality had intruded.

She'd still run upstairs to check on his health – _a true wife_ – and he'd be damned if he tried to say it hadn't rocked him to the core. He'd watched as his lies and manipulation bore fruit in her accusation that he'd orchestrated the mix-up with the medicine just to force her submission.

He snapped the garden shears in frustration, and watched as the flowers of one of his favourite plants fell to the ground.

 _How could she think me capable of that? And to say that I break things before I mend them for my own agenda._

Except, that's exactly what he did – he created leverage when there was none to be found, and a part of him had admired that she'd intuited this fact about him.

 _I did convince her that I could destroy Aakash's marriage on a whim._

Khushi emerged from the bathroom, hair wet, skin glistening, dressed in a white and pale green _salwaar_ suit. She returned to the outdoor lounge, humming softly as she rubbed her towel over her hair. She ignored him thoroughly.

She had issued a challenge earlier, rightly bolstered by Aakash's defence of her sister, and declared that she was breaking their contract and leaving him. Seeing her like that, fired up and energetic, he'd had to beat down the urge to laugh. For three days he'd watched her take blow after blow, her optimism slowly eroding as she was battered with accusations and questions. _His Khushi_ had returned to him.

It had taken everything he had to refrain from throwing her against the nearest wall and kissing her until neither of them could breathe.

The ache in his body heightened as his desire pulsed with the thought. He rushed to the bathroom and stood at the vanity, breathing hard and trying to regain control. He slashed cold water on his face. Raked his fingers through his hair. Slammed a hand to the tiles next to the mirror before wiping the fog from it.

He'd changed. When they'd met that fateful night in Sheesh Mahal, he'd been young and idealistic. Now, not even twelve months later, he could see the changes she'd wrought. He ate better, his hair was thicker, his eyes clearer. The stubble he sported added gravitas. There were the beginnings of laugh lines, almost-creases caused by the smiles she'd coaxed out of him nearly every day.

Until four days ago, when he'd been exposed to the horrendous truth on the terrace. Now, he was an ugly fusion of the warring parts inside him, alternately propping her up and tearing her down.

 _If I can't hate her, then I can at least hate what she's forced me to become. A monster._

His disgust in himself was a physical thing, and he retched into the sink as nausea overpowered him. Nothing came up, and he realised that he hadn't eaten anything except for her _kheer_ all day. He washed his face – again – and rinsed his mouth before straightening. His eyes caught on the shelf inside the shower cubicle.

 _That's why she'd smelled different._

She hadn't had her _things_ , whatever collection of feminine items she used every day to create the fragrance that haunted him at night – jasmine and sandalwood and a hint of something that reminded him of citrus. A thrill went through him as he realised that she'd been using his things, but worry chased it away immediately.

She had nothing. She'd come into his home with only the clothes on her back and Di had been lending her saris every day.

 _Everything must feel so alien. She must be so alone._

She'd only received her Bua-ji's package today. Stamping down an errant musing about what she'd done for underclothes these past three days, Arnav dialled a number as he returned to the sofa. Aman answered on the third ring.

"I need you to pick up a few items and deliver them to Shantivan in the morning. I'll email you a list."

"Yes, sir."

He typed out a list. Soap, shampoo, conditioner, all from the women's section; something to wash her face; _kajal_ eyeliner; those ridiculous baubles she liked to put in her hair; a organizer for her bangles. And so on. He attached it to an email for Aman when he was done.

Next, Arnav ventured to the kitchen for some food – mindful of his blood sugar – and found the platter of _jalebi_ Khushi had made earlier. He ate one as he made himself a sandwich.

 _She makes jalebi when upset._

He'd smoothly covered his ignorance with Shyam and Di earlier but couldn't deny how much it hurt that Shyam, _that adulterous bastard_ , had known this intimate detail about his wife when he didn't.

 _My wife. My wife. My wife._

The litany followed him back upstairs, where he found Aman's reply waiting.

Added a few items to the list.

Aman had extended the list to include nail clippers, nail file, and tweezers. Body cream. Feminine hygiene products.

 _Sindoor_.

A wave of shame washed over him.

 _What kind of a husband am I? I didn't even think about sindoor._

Something twisted inside his chest as he thought of her staring at the tiny gold pot she kept under the mirror – probably appropriated from the _pooja_ supplies – trying to make what little she had last. She never failed to wear it.

 _My Khushi. My sindoor. My wife._

He approved of the changes and added one more item.

 _Salwaar_ suits in bright colours. No pastels. Pom-poms. Red.

Arnav crossed the room to rummage in his wardrobe for nightclothes. He stood in the darkness, watching Khushi as she prepared for sleep. She slid between the covers of her makeshift bed.

 _Does she always wear kameezes to sleep, or are they to preserve her modesty from me?_

He suspected it was the former. Arnav watched as she looked up, trying to find her parents amongst the band of stars that arched overhead. It was a nightly ritual. First a prayer, then a conversation with her parents, and only then, sleep. He'd watched her every night and had noted with a sinking heart that she'd stopped praying two nights ago. She'd also stopped waking early for the morning _pooja_.

Sometimes she cried, soft sobs that shook her shoulders as she burrowed into the quilt. Last night, she'd cried out for her mother in her sleep, and he'd been by her side instantly, a hand to her forehead to calm her. She'd mumbled his name.

 _Arnav_. Not Arnav-ji. Apparently he lost the _–ji_ somewhere between waking and sleep.

He changed in the darkness and slipped into his bed, feeling vaguely disgusted with himself for insisting that she sleep outside.

 _This space is too small for us to share it. Her proximity is already driving me mad._

 _The traitorous slut deserves it for what she's put Di through. Put me through._

A war raged in his heart as he strove for sleep.

The next morning, Arnav answered the door when Aman arrived with the requested items. He carried the bags upstairs after a quick exchange with his manager and arranged them carefully next to her _basta_ of things from her Bua-ji.

He settled himself on the sofa and smiled bitterly at the irony – _this is exactly how I gifted her those bangles_ – as he waited.

Khushi didn't see the bags when she arrived, so engrossed was she in her efforts to ignore his presence, but gasped when she spied them. She rushed over, eagerly unpacking small and sundry items, smiling to herself over the soap, caressing a new collection of _salwaar_ suits, and shedding tears over the _sindoor_.

She ran inside when she was done and stood in front of him, her wide grin contrasting with the tears in her eyes.

"Jiji and Anjali-ji got me things. Clothes and _kajal_ and _sindoor_."

This, he'd noticed, was becoming a pattern with Khushi. She raged and pushed and cried, but always returned to confide in him. She told him every detail about her day even as she vowed to never speak to him again.

He forced his features into an emotionless mask, refusing to let her see his joy in her smile or his disappointment that she hadn't recognized his gesture for what it was.

 _It's for the best, Arnav. She wouldn't use any of it if she knew._

He nodded at her, feigning nonchalance, and watched as she left the room in a flurry of excitement.

The silence when a heart breaks is perhaps the loudest silence of them all.


	7. Nainital Reimagined: Part 1

**Nainital Reimagined: Part 1**

 **Khushi**

Khushi sat alone, curled into a ball with her chin resting on her knees, shaking as fear coursed through her.

 _Devi Maiyya, please protect me. Protect me, Devi Maiyya._

The night was broken by moonlight streaming through the window but it couldn't cut through her terror of the dark. She bit her lip, choking back a sob as she looked towards the door he'd disappeared through, willing him to come back.

When he didn't appear, Khushi counted to a hundred, then two hundred, and then five hundred, but nothing helped. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her parents climb into a car, never to return. She heard her mother's screams with every breath she took.

 _Devi Maiyya, please protect me. Protect me, Devi Maiyya._

A soft scratching at the window disturbed the silence, causing Khushi's racing heart to pound almost painfully in her chest.

 _There's nothing there_ , she tried to reassure herself, _it's just the wind or a branch._

But it was futile. Her mind conjured up one terrifying image after another to accompany the sound. A burglar trying to break into the room. A murderer looking for their next victim.

Unable to stand it any longer, Khushi scrambled up from the couch and tiptoed to the door that led to the bedroom. Gathering her courage and asking Devi Maiyaa for strength, she knocked softly on the door. There was no response.

"Arnav-ji?" she called tentatively, her voice barely rising above a whisper.

There was a howl as the wind picked up, slamming a shutter against one of the windows and startling her so much that she jumped. Khushi swallowed a scream. When she caught her breath, she turned to the door and knocked again.

"Arnav-ji?"

Her voice was stronger this time but there was still no answer. She reached out and tried the handle, but was unsurprised to find that he'd locked it in his anger. A sob escaped her as she walked back to her couch, resigned to a sleepless night with only the ghosts of her parents for company. Her borrowed – stolen, a voice in her mind corrected – bridal get-up wasn't a match for the cold, biting air inside this cramped apartment behind the dhaba. Khushi shivered, wishing for a blanket.

Her vision blurred with tears as she thought of Arnav-ji's last words to her.

"I don't care where you go or what you do. I don't give a damn."

The money he'd slammed down sat untouched on the small table. He was punishing her for a crime she didn't understand. Yes, she'd tricked him, but it was only so that he'd stay with her. She needed to take care of him – he'd fainted earlier in the day because of low blood sugar, and then pushed the car so far before one of the tyres had punctured. And he'd refused to eat at the dhaba, saying that he disliked oily and spicy foods.

Khushi curled herself into the couch, grateful for the distraction that Arnav-ji was providing her, even in his absence. She understood his fury that she'd dared to tamper with his car, siphoning the fuel so that he couldn't reach Nainital in time for his conference. But she'd only done it for Lavanya-ji, who'd been upset that they wouldn't get to spend time together. Only ...

Only Lavanya-ji hadn't accompanied him and Khushi had gotten stuck inside the trunk of his car. These things could only happen to her, she knew ... normal people didn't get trapped in cars.

 _Hai Devi Maiyya, if I had to get stuck in a car, why did it have to be his car? This man who frazzles my thoughts and makes my pulse race, who can scare me and comfort me in the same breath?_

A door slammed somewhere, the sound loud in the silence. Khushi screamed before she could stop herself.

"Khushi?"

Relief, sweet and cool, spread throughout her body at the sound of his voice. She heard him moving around in the other room, and then he was there, opening the door and striding towards her, fury etched into his features.

"What the hell? Why can't you be silent? Let me sleep."


	8. Nainital Reimagined: Part 2

**Nainital Reimagined: Part 2**

 **Arnav**

Khushi looked up at him, wide-eyed in fear, as he finished growling at her.

 _Damn, she looks good enough to eat._

She wore a bridal set in deep pink and orange, her sheer dupatta doing nothing to cover the many inches of perfect skin that showed between the blouse and the skirt. His fingers had yearned to caress that skin all afternoon. Hell, his lips had ached to taste it.

Arnav blinked at Khushi, trying to rein in his desire for her, as his groggy thoughts caught up to him. She was afraid, he realised, and not just of his anger. Wondering why it was so dark, he strode to the wall and flicked the light switches. Nothing happened.

 _Shit. We lost power ... she's afraid of the dark._

He went back to her, piecing together what must have happened as he slept. She was terrified.

"Khushi, it's okay," he allowed tenderness to seep into his tone, "I'm going to look for candles, okay?"

She nodded, hiccupping back a sob, as he stood and searched every drawer he could find. Finally, he found a single candle in the corner of the one of the cupboards.

And nothing to light it with.

He returned to the couch.

"There's a candle, but I don't have a way to light it. Is there anything else I can do?"

Khushi shook her head.

"Okay," he sighed, "At least ... go into the bedroom and sleep on the bed. I'll sleep out here."

"I can't sleep alone," her voice came, soft and vulnerable, "I haven't slept alone since ..."

All at once, he was back at the gazebo, listening to her tearful confession.

 _"I'm afraid of the dark. I'm afraid of fast cars. I'm afraid to sleep alone."_

"Oh. What can I do then?"

"Will you ... will you stay with me?"

 _This is dangerous_ , his mind cautioned.

"Yes, of course," his lips ignored the warning, "but only if you sleep on the bed."

When she nodded, he guided her to the bedroom with a hand on her shoulder, trying to reassure her. Khushi sat on the edge of the bed and took off her earrings before sliding under the blankets, her eyes on him where he sat on a chair in the corner.

"Sleep," he urged her, "I'm right here."


	9. Nainital Reimagined: Part 3

**Nainital Reimagined: Part 3**

 **Khushi**

She dozed fitfully, waking many times to check on him. He'd fallen asleep, finally, his head lolling at an uncomfortable looking angle as he sprawled on the chair. It seemed unfair that she had two blankets while he shivered in the cool night air.

 _He'll get sick again_ , she agonized.

Khushi slid off the bed as silently as she could and gathered up one of the blankets. She tucked it around him, making sure he was covered and there were no gaps for the icy air to sneak through. He was unguarded in his sleep, seeming relaxed and content in a way she'd never seen in his waking moments. Unbidden, the memory of his laughter came to mind.

His smile transformed him, she knew, but his laughter ...

Somehow, slowly, her own happiness had gotten hopelessly tangled with his. His smile made her smile; his laughter strummed something deep inside her.

 _What's happening to me, Devi Maiyya?_

Whatever it was, it had to do with the slumbering man in front of her. She wanted to take care of him, to know him and comfort him and talk to him in every second of the day. He infuriated her sometimes, and his anger terrified her, but she wanted to be there for him every time he needed a friend. She wanted to be a part of his life.

It was easy to admit this now, in this tiny room outside of Delhi where no one could disturb them. Khushi knew that these thoughts would bury themselves deep inside at dawn. She reached across, intending to brush his hair from his forehead, but froze when his eyes blinked open.

They stared at each other for several seconds, his curious gaze taking in her hand – still hovering above his head – before raking down her form. Belatedly, Khushi realised that she'd left her dupatta on the bed.

She gasped, her hands automatically wrapping around her waist and chest, and the sound broke him out of his trance. He quickly averted his gaze, staring at the blank wall next to them and allowing Khushi to rush back to the bed to retrieve her dupatta.

"Arnav-ji?" her voice was a hesitant whisper.

She watched as he moved his arms slightly and looked down in confusion at the blanket.

"Why did you give me a blanket?" his voice was a low growl, tinged with anger and ... something else.

"You were cold ..."

"I don't want it," he crumpled it up and threw it onto the bed, "You keep it."

"But ..."

"Shut up, Khushi. Just go to sleep."

"Arnav-ji ..."

"I told you to go to sleep. Didn't you understand?"

Khushi jumped at his raised voice, the furious edge in his tone sending a lick of fear running through her. She felt his glare as she climbed into the bed, settling herself down amongst her two unwanted blankets.


	10. Nainital Reimagined: Part 4

**Nainital Reimagined: Part 4**

 **Arnav**

Fighting sleep, he watched her carefully for signs of wakefulness. Khushi seemed asleep, but he'd learnt his lesson.

 _She gave me a blanket._

No, she hadn't simply given him a blanket. She'd tucked it around him so his hands and feet were covered.

 _I yearn for her._

It was an ache he'd never felt for anyone else. It went beyond simple lust. He wanted to be the secret behind her smiles, the mischief behind her blushes, the heat behind her racing pulse.

Her tears undid him, made him want to carry her away to where she was safe from everything that could cause her harm.

 _What the hell does she want?_

Her signals threw him into confusion. Her little gestures, these tiny things she did to show she cared, allowed hope to blossom inside him – a hope she dashed every time she pushed him towards Lavanya.

Lavanya was a nice girl, a good friend, but he didn't want her. The spark between them had died out when he'd met Khushi; the slow burn of his feelings for this smiling girl from Lucknow had taken over and obliterated the thought of Lavanya from his mind.

 _She's everywhere. She's driving me to madness._

Khushi attacked all his senses. Trapped with her in his car, he'd battled with his lust all day. And when he'd finally mastered it, she'd returned from the public facilities dressed as a bride. His bride. The dhaba owners had mistaken them for an eloped couple, and Khushi had milked it for all it was worth to force him to stay with her.

He'd needed distance, for himself ... and for her. She wasn't safe from his desire; it burned so strongly that it threatened to overwhelm what little control he had. And now ...

Lightning flashed outside, followed by the low roar of thunder. The storm outside seemed to reflect his inner turmoil.

Khushi squirmed under her blankets.

It was a good thing that Arnav Singh Raizada didn't believe in destiny, or he'd start to think that fate was mocking him.

 _A lifetime of avoiding marriage ... and I'm here posing as her husband, sharing this tiny apartment and tinier bedroom while the rest of the world thinks we're celebrating our Suhaag Raat._

Lightning lit up the room again, and this time thunder boomed directly overhead, making the air vibrate for several long seconds. In the silence that followed, he heard Khushi whimper.

"Amma," she called.

He was at her side in an instant. Arnav knelt beside the bed, one hand on Khushi's forehead as he caressed the crease between her eyebrows.

"Ssshhhhh, Khushi," he whispered, "It's okay."

She relaxed slowly, her chest rising and falling to a gentler rhythm as her pulse calmed. When she turned in her sleep, she trapped his hand under her cheek and nuzzled into it, mumbling something he didn't hear. His heart skipped several beats.

He stayed like that until the storm abated, reaching over to touch her whenever she seemed in danger of waking from fear. When he stood, hours later, his knees protested, having locked as he knelt on the unforgiving concrete floor.

Ignoring the pain, Arnav limped to his chair and set it beside the bed. He settled into it, watching Khushi as his thoughts swirled chaotically. He was still sitting there when the first light of dawn crept through the windows and chased away the shadows.


	11. Khushi's Engagement: Part 1

**Khushi's Engagement: Part 1**

* * *

 _Author's Note: I've always watched the episode where Khushi gets engaged to Shyam aware that all Khushi wants, at that moment, is Arnav Singh Raizada. He'd broken her the night before (Diwali), shattered her heart, but he'd also followed her to the temple just to bandage up her wounded finger. She'd forgotten all about agreeing to marry Shyam until she walked back into Bua-ji's house, her thoughts still at the temple with Arnav._

 _So I thought I'd write something, to explore an idea I've had since I first watched the episode. This is the first of four parts._

 _This part is canon from Episode 117 (well, Khushi's thoughts aren't, obviously, but the actions and dialogue are). The AU begins with the chime of the doorbell._

* * *

"Take this ring, and put it on Shyam."

Everything faded away until all she could hear was the pounding of her heart and the rush of blood in her ears. Khushi stared at her Bua-ji.

No matter how many times she repeated the words in her head, no matter how she rearranged them, they refused to fall into an order that made sense.

 _Ring? Shyam-ji? Now, when Babu-ji was still struggling to breathe on the bed next to her?_

Dimly, she registered that Amma and Jiji were arguing against the decision. She saw Shyam-ji's mouth open and close but didn't hear his words. She saw Bua-ji turn to Shyam-ji but didn't hear the arguments she chose to make.

Khushi turned to look at her Babu-ji. The world came rushing back to her as she heard Bua-ji ask Shyam-ji about a ring.

 _He already has a ring?_

She watched, frozen in disbelief, as he pulled out a small blue box and opened it to reveal a diamond ring. Khushi felt as though the chord that had always tethered her to the ground had snapped, and she was floating, floating in a world that was spinning out of control.

She was out of options. She knew that there was nothing she could say or do to prevent the inevitable.

"Take it," Bua-ji thrust a thick gold ring into her hand, "Give it to him. Put it on his finger!"

Devi Maiyaa had abandoned her.

"Babua," Bua-ji urged Shyam-ji, "extend your hand."

He raised his hand, solemn in his obedience, as Bua-ji urged her to put the ring on Shyam-ji's finger. Khushi turned to her father again. He shook his head from side to side, still recovering from his ordeal.

 _Babu-ji took you in when you had no one else, Khushi. He's never asked you for anything in return, except this. He's loved you, defended you, protected you. How can you refuse, especially when ... when you were waiting for_ him _, and he ... he ..._

The memories bombarded her, coming so strong and fast that her head spun.

 _Arnav-ji handing her a container of food on Navratri, her dupatta caught on the cuff of his shirt, the car trip towards Nainital ..._

Khushi raised her hand, the gold ring clasped firmly between her fingers.

 _Arnav-ji holding her as she stumbled into him, his expression when he was mistaken for her husband, his stillness when she ran to him at the hospital, desperate for a comfort only he could provide. The fairy lights, the rangoli, the poolside._

Her hand, seemingly of its own volition, edged towards Shyam-ji's.

 _Arnav-ji leading her out of the circle of diya, Arnav-ji returning her payal, Arnav-ji leaning in to kiss her._

Arnav-ji had abandoned her.

Khushi blinked. The gold ring was on Shyam-ji's finger. She swallowed down her guilt and anxiety, cursing the heart that still beat for him, despite everything.

Arnav-ji, Arnav-ji, Arnav-ji.

She'd assumed she was out of tears, that she'd cried a lifetime's worth of them over the past two days, but the telltale prickle behind her eyes told her otherwise.

Her heart bled, and her eyes tried to voice its pain.

Shyam-ji held out a ring, tiny and delicate and pretty, but all Khushi saw was a hangman's noose.

She tried to suppress the urge to flee, tried to ignore the part of her that screamed at her bolt. To run away from this place where her obligation to her family mattered more than her heart, where her innermost desire could never be fulfilled because she, as always, wanted something she couldn't have ... had dared to hope for a future that wasn't in her destiny.

The dreams she'd dreamt over the past week lay shattered at her feet, but to walk over their shards and move on was to invite a pain she wouldn't survive.

Arnav-ji, Arnav-ji, Arnav-ji.

Her heart beat to the rhythm of another man's name as Shyam-ji stepped closer.

"Khushi," Bua-ji's voice cut through her confused thoughts, "Raise your hand, child. Extend your hand, for your Babu-ji."

Khushi turned to look at him, the man who'd given her everything she had. Her name, her childhood, her family. Babu-ji was shelter and love and protection. She raised her left hand, staring at the bandage that Arnav-ji had tied there not an hour ago.

"What's this?" cried Bua-ji.

 _My heart. My love. My everything. The future I can't have._

Khushi recalled him at the temple, head bent as he carefully wrapped her finger in the bandage he'd carried in his pocket as he drove to her.

"Hai re Nand Kishore. It doesn't matter," Bua-ji consoled herself, "Extend your other hand."

 _No_ , screamed her heart.

 _Yes_ , cried the soul that still bled from his words – "This night, and you, hold no significance for me."

"I'm telling you, extend your hand Khushi!"

 _No_ , whispered the woman who knew she loved another.

 _Yes_ , urged the girl who loved her father.

 _No_ , wept the orphan who'd dreamt of a family that didn't remind her of Babu-ji and Amma's charity whenever she committed a mistake.

 _Yes_ , howled the friend who'd betrayed another woman.

 _No, no, NO_ , screamed the lamb who was tired of sacrificing for everyone around her.

Khushi watched as Bua-ji yanked her right hand so it extended out in front of her, trapped in a daze of conflict, half formed wishes and dreams and protests whirling in her mind but refusing to be voiced. Shyam-ji took her hand.

The doorbell chimed.


	12. Khushi's Engagement: Part 2

**Khushi's Engagement: Part 2**

Khushi snatched her hand out of Shyam-ji's grasp and ran to the front door, ignoring the startled cries of her Bua-ji and sister.

 _Thank you Devi Maiyaa, thank you for giving me reprieve._

Khushi wiped her tears on the back of her hand and slid the lock back, expecting to find a neighbor on the threshold. Her heart stopped as she took in the man standing before her. He'd shed his jacket and tie since she'd last seen him, and now looked crumpled and worn, the top two buttons of his light blue shirt undone and his hair in uncharacteristic disarray.

Her heart sang to see her most desperate desire brought to life in the most unexpected of ways. Her tears returned, running thick and fast down her cheeks as he watched her, concern and bewilderment vying for supremacy in his features.

"Khushi ..."

She threw herself at him, her arms locking around his neck as she wept. She clung to him desperately, not caring why he was here, not caring that his arms hung limp at his sides, not caring that he'd stilled beneath her hold.

Devi Maiyaa had sent him to her, and that was all that mattered.

"Khushi! Who is it at the door?"

Footsteps approached them. Khushi heard the shocked gasps of her family behind her but didn't let go, didn't turn around.

"Devi Maiyaa, Devi Maiyyaa, Devi Maiyaa," she chanted against Arnav-ji's waistcoat.

Arnav-ji, Arnav-ji, Arnav-ji, her heart pounded.

"Khushi!" came Bua-ji's voice, sharpened by rage and shock, "What are you doing?"

"Khushi!" cried Amma,

"Khushi ..." implored Jiji.

Khushi only held him tighter. She knew what would happen if she let go.

"Khushi," came his voice, a low and gentle rumble she felt in his chest as much as heard.

She lifted her head.

"What's happening, Khushi?"

She opened her mouth to explain but was forestalled by Bua-ji.

"I'm sorry for Khushi's mad behavior," she gushed, her tone deferential and polite, "I apologize on her behalf. She's overwhelmed, what with her father's sudden illness and her engagement."

Arnav-ji's heart stuttered. Khushi heard it as she held him. She felt the sudden tension in his body and the way his breath stalled. Her heart dared to hope.

"En-engagement?"

"Yes, yes," Bua-ji said, "we were just celebrating her engagement to Shyam-babua. He's inside with Shashi at the moment, but when he comes ..."

Bua-ji trailed off, as if just now realizing how odd the scene was.

"But babua, what are you doing here?"

Ignoring Bua-ji, Arnav-ji reached down and gently held up Khushi's left hand. He took in the bandage he'd tied there. She shook, her grip on him loosening as she realised what she was asking of him.

 _You mean nothing to him,_ she reminded herself, _he wouldn't save you, even if he could._

"Did he put a ring on you?" he asked in a low tone that only Khushi could hear.

Startled, Khushi stammered a reply, "N-no."

"What do you want?"

 _You_ , she wanted to say, but his cruel words from last night and this morning didn't let her. Khushi's fingers tightened involuntarily on his waistcoat. She closed her eyes.

"Okay," he whispered, turning to Bua-ji.

"Khushi can't get engaged," he announced, his arm finally coming up to wrap around her.

There was a beat of stunned silence, and then everyone started speaking at once.

"What's this nonsense?"

"What do you mean?"

"Let go of Khushi."

In the confusion, Khushi felt Arnav-ji push something into her palm. She looked down to see that he'd given her a white gold ring with a single diamond embedded into it.

 _Why does he have a diamond ring? Is it Lavanya-ji's engagement ring?_

"Wear it," he murmured.

"No," she protested, "It's not mine."

"Trust me."

She didn't know how Arnav-ji thought he could fix this with a diamond ring, but her trust in him was absolute. She could face anything if he was by her side. Khushi complied, sliding the band into the ring finger of her right hand.

"Khushi can't get engaged," Arnav-ji's quiet voice silenced her family's protests, "because she's already engaged to me. Show them, Khushi."

Again, Khushi felt a curious untethering. Surely he'd said something else and her confused mind had replaced reality with fantasy. Replaced his actual words with her desperate wishes.

Arnav-ji squeezed her shoulder to spur her into action, and Khushi trembled as she raised her hand to show her family. He held her closer as Amma approached them.

"What's going on Khushi?"

"I asked her to marry me earlier," Arnav-ji spoke for her, the lies coming to him as easily as breathing, "We were planning on formally asking permission tomorrow, but I came here tonight to talk to you."

"This ... this is nonsense," seethed Bua-ji, "This isn't how things are done. Shame, that you proposed to our daughter without seeking our permission. Shame, that she accepted without asking her father. Shame, that you thought you could buy our approval with your money and your power and your airs. How dare you. What do you think? We're so poor, so desperate, that we won't hold you accountable for your deeds? Devyani-ji and Anjali-ji have only ever been kind to us, you should be ashamed to call yourself a grandson, a brother."

Khushi closed her eyes in anticipation of his fury. He wouldn't stand for such insults, she knew, not when he was innocent of the crimes he stood accused of.

 _Why is he lying to them? For me ...?_

But he stood still and silent under the furious gaze of her family, the tightening of his hand at her shoulder the only indication that he'd heard Bua-ji at all.

"Khushi, is this true?" asked Amma.

Khushi nodded.

"Is this why you have that bandage? You pretended to hurt yourself to stall the engagement?"

Startled by the accusation, Khushi glanced at Arnav-ji, and seeing him nod slightly, nodded at her mother again. She didn't see the hand that flew towards her until Arnav-ji reached out to halt its progress.

"No," he growled at Amma, "Don't make that mistake. Especially not in my presence."

Khushi sagged against him in relief, watching as Amma paled. The silence that followed was only broken by Jiji's soft sobs.

"Bua-ji, what's taking so long ..." Shyam-ji froze in the archway of the kitchen.


	13. Khushi's Engagement: Part 3

**Khushi's Engagement: Part 3**

Shyam-ji looked from Bua-ji to Khushi and Arnav-ji, the blood draining from his face as he took in the sight of them, arms still wrapped around each other. Guilt soured her stomach. It wasn't his fault that she couldn't marry him. Shyam-ji had only tried to do what Babu-ji and Bua-ji had asked of him.

Unwilling to confront Shyam-ji's shock-filled eyes, Khushi turned her face into Arnav-ji's chest and registered the rapid beat of his heart. His hands clenched into fists and his breath came rapidly.

 _What ..._

"Jija-ji?" he exclaimed.

 _Does Arnav-ji know Shyam-ji from somewhere? But why is he calling him Jija-ji? Shyam-ji isn't married._

Khushi turned to watch Shyam-ji run a hand over his face as the blood drained from it. His mouth opened and closed, as if speech was failing him. Arnav-ji gently moved her to the side and stepped forward.

"Jija-ji?" he repeated, "What are you ... what are you doing here? Di said you were in Chandigarh."

 _Di? Anjali-ji?_

The blood in Khushi's veins cooled as she recalled Anjali-ji proudly telling her that her husband's name was Shyam.

"Aaahhh," Shyam-ji frowned, "Aaah, well, I ... I oversee Bua-ji's pension case and dr-dropped by just to ... to check ..."

Bua-ji turned to him in shock, "What are you saying, babua?"

Khushi's breath came rapidly as the enormity of the situation sank in. Shyam-ji was Arnav-ji's Jija-ji. Anjali-ji's husband.

 _And he ... and he was ... he'd been about to ... we almost ..._

"Yes, yes," Shyam-ji continued, "Khushi-ji asked me to look into her Bua-ji's pension case for her."

When Arnav-ji turned to her, his expression tortured and accusing, Khushi shook her head.

"Shyam-ji is our Paying Guest, and Khushi's fiancé," Bua-ji explained to the room, "He's been living with us for weeks."

"N-n-no," Shyam-ji paled further, taking a few steps backwards as his eyes frantically searched for path to escape.

"What's wrong, babua?" Amma asked Shyam-ji, "Do you need to lie down?"

Arnav-ji pulled out his phone.

"Di? Call Jija-ji, call him right now. I'll explain later, just call him this instant."

Bua-ji and Amma looked around in confusion as Jiji ran to Khushi.

"Khushi," she whispered, "What's Arnav-ji implying?"

But Khushi could only shake her head as Shyam-ji's phone started ringing. Bua-ji recovered from the shock first, snatching the phone from his limp fingers to look at the screen.

"Rani ... Sahi ... Sahiba," she read out before answering it, "Hallo? ... Hallo? Anjali-bityaa, is that ... is that you?"

Arnav-ji strode over to Bua-ji and relieved her of the phone. He put it on speakerphone so everyone could hear.

"Di?"

"Chhote? Where's your Jija-ji? Why is Khushi-ji's Bua-ji with you? Are you in Laxmi-Nagar? Is everything alright?"

"Di, give the phone to Aakash please."

"But Chhote, what—"

"Di. Aakash. Now."

As they waited for Aakash-ji to come to the phone, Khushi watched Shyam-ji take a few steps to his right.

"Bhai?" came Aakash-ji's voice.

"Aakash. Get Mohan to drive the whole family to Laxmi Nagar. Do you remember where Khushi's house is? And ask Mr Roy to meet us here."

"Yes, I remember where Pay- Khushi-ji lives. A lawyer, Bhai? Why does Khushi-ji need a lawyer?"

"This isn't the time for questions, Aakash. Do as I say. Now."

"Yes. Okay. See you in twenty minutes."

Arnav-ji turned to Shyam-ji as he cut the call.

"How dare you?" he shook with fury, "How dare you deceive my Di, how dare you take advantage of her kindness and her love. You're cheating on her."

"N-n-no," stuttered Shyam-ji, "You're misunderstanding Saale-Sahib. I would never be unfaithful to Rani Sahiba, no. Khushi-ji ... Khushi-ji keeps inviting me over here, using her Bua-ji's pension as an excuse. Her intentions aren't pure ..."

"Liar!" yelled Jiji, "How dare you stand there and lie to Arnav-ji, when we all know the truth. How you wormed yourself into our lives in Lucknow, how you became our Paying Guest and won over Bua-ji, how you agreed to marry Khushi despite being married."

"You said that you don't have any family in Delhi," Bua-ji cried, "You said that you have no one else. I left you alone with my nieces, thinking they were safe."

"No, no, Bua-ji ..."

"Don't call me Bua-ji! I'm ashamed to even look at you!"

Khushi startled as movement caught her eye. Amma swayed as she lost her balance. Khushi ran to her mother, Jiji beside her, and caught her as she fell.

Shyam-ji used the distraction to run to the open window of the living room, but Arnav-ji was quicker. He halted Shyam-ji's progress with one hand and slammed his head against the wall. Shyam-ji slumped, unconscious, as Bua-ji screamed. Arnav-ji left him crumpled against the wall and kneeled beside Khushi.

"Should I take her into the bedroom?" he asked softly, watching as Jiji tried to rouse Amma, "Should I call a doctor?"

"Yes," Khushi tried to control the tremors rushing through her, "Thank you."

"I'll take care of everything, I promise. I'll fix this."


	14. Khushi's Engagement: Part 4

**Khushi's Engagement: Part 4**

Hours later, they sat in the hospital corridor connecting the rooms that held her father and his sister.

Anjali-ji had weathered the shock of her husband's duplicity badly but was unable to refute the sight of his clothes in the wardrobe and the ring in his pocket. She'd fainted when Arnav-ji had ordered his lawyer to arrange for a divorce straight away. Khushi had shown him to her and Jiji's bed, where he'd gladly laid his sister and sat beside her as they waited for the doctor he'd called.

Jiji and Bua-ji had retreated to Amma's bedroom to watch over her as Khushi checked on her father. After feeding Babu-ji and helping with his medication, Khushi had busied herself by making tea for everyone. As she handed him his sugar-free tea, Arnav-ji had quietly asked her about Babu-ji's medication and her answer that Shyam-ji usually took care of it had concerned him.

When the doctor arrived, Arnav-ji had asked him to check both Anjali-ji and Babu-ji. Anjali-ji was fine, the doctor assured them all, only shaken up and mentally frail. She would need careful observation for the next forty-eight hours. Babu-ji, however, hadn't been receiving the correct medication. The doctor had recommended that he be kept under observation for signs of any damage Shyam-ji might have caused. Their families stood watch over the two of them, crowding the rooms as they hovered anxiously.

Arnav-ji reached over to take her hand. Khushi ignored the quickening of her pulse and slid her hand out of his.

"You don't have to pretend anymore," she muttered, "Lavanya-ji won't like it."

Khushi frowned as she realised that Lavanya-ji hadn't come to the house with his family. Or to the hospital.

"Where is Lavanya-ji?" she asked.

"Lavanya ..." Arnav-ji sighed, "Lavanya left."

"What? Why?"

"After I left you at the temple, I talked to her. I explained that I couldn't marry her and we realised there was no future for us. She left."

"She loves you," Khushi's heart broke for her friend, "How could you treat her like that? Why did you tell her that you couldn't marry her?"

"Because I can't, Khushi. I can't marry her, not when I can't offer her everything she needs in a husband. She'd be miserable with me."

"But you ... you brought her into your home. She learnt so much, changed so much, just for you."

"I know ..." Arnav-ji sounded weary, "I don't want her, Khushi ... I can't spend my life someone I can't love."

"What are you saying?"

"You know what I'm saying."

Khushi's heart shied away from the implied meaning in his words. They sat in silence for a few minutes. She slid the ring off her finger and held it out to him.

"Thank you for lying to Bua-ji and Amma. I don't need this anymore."

He looked at the ring but made no move to take it.

"Marry me."

"Wh-what?"

"Marry me, Khushi," Arnav-ji looked at her intently, "That's why I came to your house. I wanted to tell you ... I want to marry you."

"N-n-no."

"Why not?"

"I can't ..."

 _Say yes. Say yes. Khushi, you were praying for this earlier._

But she couldn't betray Lavanya-ji. She couldn't.

Arnav-ji sighed and slumped in his chair, closing his eyes as he tilted his head back.

"I'm always in control," he directed his words at the ceiling, "of every single aspect of my life. Or at least I was, until you literally fell into my life. I don't think I've made a single calm, rational, logical decision since that night, Khushi. I'm always reacting, always on the back-foot, trying to reclaim the control I've somehow lost. I don't know what's going on. Nothing makes sense any more."

Khushi frowned at him, surprised to hear that the chaos and confusion in her life mirrored his.

 _I'm always reacting,_ she thought, _and he's always attacking. On Diwali he ..._

 _You knew about Lavanya-ji and you still let it happen. The blame lies partly with you ..._ her mind countered.

 _But even before that, he was so rude ..._

 _You went into his home without his knowledge. You were training his girlfriend when he didn't think she needed training._

 _I only did that for Anjali-ji, because of the contract he made me sign ..._

 _You shouldn't have worked for him in the first place. You should have left the moment you realised he was the boss._

 _I wouldn't have needed a job if he hadn't asked for so much money._

 _You crashed into his car; he didn't crash into you._

 _I had to come to Delhi because of him. He released those videos. Those men ..._

 _You yelled at him at the mazhar. You tried to force your views onto him._

 _He locked me in a room. He misbehaved with me._

 _You ruined his show and wasted months of his work._

 _I didn't do it on purpose! I only went to see Abhishek-ji._

 _And yet ..._

Khushi froze, seeing the last few months in a new light. A series of actions and reactions layered upon one another, each escalating the situation until they'd both been hurt beyond recognition.

"Arnav-ji ..."

"No, let me finish," he didn't open his eyes, "I spent almost twelve years in the single minded pursuit of Sheesh Mahal. I wanted to buy it for Di. It was our father's ancestral home, but our Chacha threw us out after our parents died."

Khushi gasped softly, undone by his pain. She reached over and clasped his hand between both of hers, offering what little comfort she could. He squeezed her fingers gently.

"That night," he continued, "I was content. I'd finally fulfilled my promise. I'd bought Sheesh Mahal. Di was happy and I could focus on living. It was a bleak life, yes, bitter and gray, but it was my life and I was happy with it. It was neat, ordered, in my control. You, and the chaos, the laughter, the innocence that came with you, threatened everything."

"But Khushi," Arnav-ji sighed, "don't make the same mistake I did. I spent months trying to deny this. I wasted all that time and then I tried to negate it yesterday in a desperate attempt to remain in control. I can't undo it, but I can try to fix it. Are you going to waste months too, are you going to push me away until you come to terms with the truth?"

When she remained silent, he tried again.

"Will you be able to live without me, Khushi? I start to lose my mind if I don't see you for more than a day - everything looks bitter and bleak. You brought colour back into my life, Khushi, I can't go back to the way I lived before you."

She tried to blink back tears. She took a shuddering breath that turned into a sob, and that small sound opened the floodgates. They cried together, her gasping sobs drowning his quiet ones, holding each other tightly. Khushi wept for his lost parents, for his bitter childhood, for the pain Anjali-ji had already endured, and was enduring again.

Khushi cried for herself, for the conflict within her when it came to this man who held her heart and soul, a man who claimed not to believe in love and marriage but was offering her both in a hospital corridor.

"I can't marry you," she murmured into his shoulder as her fingers twisted into his shirt, "Lavanya-ji left you hours ago and you're proposing to me. I can't trust you. What if you change your mind again? I won't marry you."

"How much time do you need, Khushi? How much time will you give me to prove myself?"

"That's not ... that's not what I meant."

"Is six months enough? A year?"

Khushi shook her head, stricken speechless by the frenzy in his eyes.

"Give me a year, Khushi," Arnav-ji implored, "a year to prove that you can trust me. We'll start again. We'll take a year to get to know each other properly, to get used to the idea, and I'll propose again at the end of it. If your answer is still no, I'll leave you alone."

He reached over and took the ring from her nerveless fingers, tucking it into his pocket with a sigh.

"I bought it for you," he confessed, "It was meant to be a gift."

"W-when?"

"When I broke up with Lavanya. Before you filled my office with pot plants and asked me to go back to her. You knew me so well, Khushi, even then."

There was a sudden tightening in her chest, the air leaving her lungs in a rush. Khushi felt in inexplicable loss for a future she'd never had.

 _No, I can't live without him._

 _No, I don't want to learn to breathe without him._

"Okay. One year," Khushi agreed, "But not from now. One year from when Anjali-ji and Babu-ji recover. We should focus on them first."

"Sure. I won't you down ever again. I promise."

She nodded, looking at her fingers as they trembled in her lap. Arnav-ji covered her hands with his.

"Try to sleep, Khushi, I'm right here. I'll always be here."

* * *

The End

* * *

 _Author's Note: And that's it! I was trying to see how Khushi and Arnav would react if he could stop her engagement somehow. I think it was relatively easy for them to make these plans while in a hospital corridor, their families breaking down around them. I don't think their troubles are over. Bua-ji and Garima think that Arnav and Khushi are engaged, so when they tell the Raizadas, there will be hell to pay. Anjali will wake up to find that her brother is engaged to the woman her husband visited whenever he was "out of town". That's going to cause problems. And then there's the question of whether Arnav can actually redeem himself._

 _But I'm not going to write about any of that. It was a nice "What If" exercise but my original intention was never to re-write the show!_

 _Oh, a quick note - the diamond ring was never an engagement ring. I imagine that Arnav, who wasn't upset when he and Lavanya broke up the first time, who wanted Khushi, even back then, bought her a small present. I imagine that he wanted to start exploring things with her but didn't get a chance to tell her because she spent the day trying to get him back with Lavanya. That scene in his office, with the pot plants, where he knows the note is from Khushi and the pot plants remind him of his mother and he knows he's going back to Lavanya because all that matters is Khushi's smile ... yeah that scene kills me._


	15. Blossom

**Blossom: Part 1**

The chime of payal outside his door distracted Arnav from his laptop.

"Blossom? Come inside."

She came, frowning in concentration as she tottered on unsteady feet, and held his leg tightly for balance when she reached him. He pulled her onto his lap.

"What are you doing here?"

Her brown eyes sparkled as she blinked at him.

"Dada da da," she chanted, raising a hand to yank at his nose.

"Daddy," he gently corrected.

"Da da daaaa," was her response.

Chuckling, Arnav threw his daughter into the air and caught her. Her giggles echoed in the room, and she squealed with delight as he made her into an aeroplane and swung her around.

"Arnav-ji, she just ate."

They both turned to the door at Khushi's soft admonishment. She leaned against the doorframe, a smile on her lips and a plate in her hands. It was obvious that she'd been there for a while.

"Geeta, you were supposed to stay in your bhaiya's room."

Their daughter giggled and hid her face in Arnav's shoulder. While she couldn't talk in full sentences yet, she certainly understood the tone of Khushi's gentle chiding.

"Awww, she just wanted to see her Daddy, that's all," he tickled her, "She's already eaten? What's the plate for then?"

"Her father's lunch."

"Oh," Arnav turned to his wife, "No one called me downstairs."

"I thought you needed peace and quiet. Although, your daughter seems to have other ideas."

Arnav settled on the sofa with Geeta on his lap and Khushi next to him.

"Maa mamama," Geeta reached for her mother.

They corrected her at the same time.

"Amma."

"Mamma."

Khushi pouted as she settled the giggling bundle on her lap.

"Arnav-ji! One of my children should call me Amma. Aarav already calls us Mom and Dad."

"And so will she," predicted Arnav, "She'll call us whatever her brother calls us."

He reached for the plate and uncovered it to reveal his lunch – dhal, roti, a selection of vegetables, and kheer for dessert. Tasting the dhal for chillies, Arnav dipped his finger and fed some to Geeta. She licked it off his finger and smacked her lips.

"Mum mum mum," his daughter chanted, reaching towards his plate for more.

"Are you sure you fed her?" Arnav grinned at Khushi as he obliged.

"Sure, sure, make fun of me," his wife huffed, "She's normally very well behaved, but the novelty of having you home these last two days has turned her into a princess."

"She is a princess. My princess."

"Laad Governess."

Arnav's short burst of laughter triggered Geeta's giggles and the room rang with their merriment for a few minutes.

"Mom! Dad! I lost ... oh she's here. Never mind."

Aarav came running into the room, freezing when he saw Geeta on Khushi's lap.

"Hey big guy," Arnav smiled, "How'd she sneak away this time?"

"She brought over one of her DVDs," Aarav shuffled his feet, "She ran off while I was setting it up. Sorry."

"I think she might want to watch it here," said Khushi, "bring it over, beta."

"Yes, Mom."

Fifteen minutes later, all four of them were settled on the bed - Geeta on Khushi's lap, Arnav sprawled untidily next to them, and Aarav on his stomach at the foot of the bed. Their daughter giggled as a 3D Krishna came up on screen. Arnav groaned.

" _The Little Krishna_? Seriously?"

"It's best to start young," Khushi replied, a little primly.

He suppressed a scoff and bit his tongue against his protests.

Entranced, Geeta left Khushi to get closer to the screen. Aarav caught her up, wrapping an arm around her in case she leaned to far off the bed. Khushi smiled at them.

"They look so cute, don't they Arnav-ji?" she whispered.

Arnav shifted so his head was in her lap. "Mmmm. The three of you are cute."

"Not you?" she asked as the threaded her fingers in his hair.

"Me? I've never looked cute in my life!"

"What about when—"

"—No. Not even then."

"Mom! Dad! We're trying to watch here."

They looked at each other, chastened, and had to look away quickly lest they dissolve into laughter. For a few minutes, the only sounds in the room were the jaunty music from the TV and Geeta's happy chattering.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Khushi asked him softly.

"I have a lunch meeting with a textiles company, a tour of the new factory in Agra, and late video conference. I won't be home for dinner."

"It's nice having you home, but you break up our routine too much," Khushi murmured, her eyes dancing with mischief, "I'll celebrate tomorrow when you're gone."

"You weren't complaining about our change in routine yesterday," he grinned wickedly, and received a light smack on his chest for his trouble.

"Ssshhh!"

His phone rang, causing both his children to glare at him until he silenced it by answering. He took it to the poolside.

"ASR-sir?"

"Yeah, Aman."

"Sorry to disturb you, sir. I thought you'd like to know that the tickets have arrived. Aakash-sir's leave has been cleared with HR, and the hotel has been booked."

"Great. Send over all the documents."

"Yes, sir. Have a good day sir."

Arnav returned to the bedroom and spoke to Khushi, who had shifted so she lay on her stomach next to Geeta.

"Aakash and Payal's present is ready for next week."

"Wonderful! Oh, Jiji and Jija-ji will be so excited!"

"What's happening to Chachu and Maasi-ji?" Aarav asked distractedly, now pretending to wrestle with his sister.

"Your mother is gifting them a holiday for their anniversary," Arnav answered, placing his phone next to his used plate on the table before joining his family on the bed.

"Are Adi and Alok going too?"

"No," Khushi grinned, "Aditya and Alok are staying here."

"Great!"

Arnav smiled. Aarav loved his younger cousins just as much as his sister. He was the eldest of the children, and even at nine, Arnav could see that Aarav watched over his siblings as seriously Arnav himself watched over Di and Aakash.

"What are your plans for tomorrow?" he asked Khushi, assuming it was safe to talk since the children weren't watching the DVD anymore.

"Your Blossom and I are going to Laxmi Nagar. Do you want to come, beta?"

"Yes! Bua-Nani gives me the best sweets!"

Khushi laughed. "Show Papa what you showed me the other day."

"N-no," stammered Aarav, looking down at the duvet.

Arnav raised an eyebrow at his son.

"It's nothing Dad, I swear."

"Show me anyway."

"Okay," he sighed as he sat up on the bed.

Geeta interrupted, pulling at Arnav's shirt and pointing to the floor ("geegee doon daa dada"), so he kissed her hair as he gently lowered her down. They all watched as she made her way to the corner where her brightly coloured building blocks were kept. Sitting on the floor with a heavy thud, Geeta stacked a few blocks together before knocking them down, laughing gleefully at the destruction.

"She's going to be an engineer," Khushi smiled.

"Demolitions expert," Arnav mumbled before turning to his son, "Go on."

"Hai re Nand Kishore!" Aarav clutched at his head, eyes half closed.

Arnav roared with laughter at his son's almost uncanny impression of Khushi's Bua-ji. Unable to speak, he held his hand up for a high five, and Aarav obliged before flopping onto the bed, guffawing as he rolled around. Khushi had tears of laughter in her eyes.

"Okay," Arnav struggled to regain his breath, "but you ... you can't do that ... in front of her ... She'll make a chutney out of you, and then come after me and your mother."

"Arnav-ji ..." Khushi's rebuke was light.

"Sorry."

Arnav reached for the remote and turned the TV off, now that no one was watching it.

"Khushi, I'm thirsty."

"So am I, Mom!"

"Lemonade?" Khushi suggested, already off the bed and half way to the door.

"Thank you," he chanted in unison with his son.

Arnav closed his eyes, thinking of the contract he was hoping to get signed tomorrow.

"Uhh, Dad?"

"Mmmm?"

"Get up."

"What's wrong?" Arnav sat up.

Aarav only pointed.

"Dada daa bee nuh paa."

Geeta stood next to him, gripping the bed with one hand and holding her sippy cup with the other. His heart melted as she offered it.

"You're my favourite, Blossom. Your brother never does things like this."

Aarav scoffed, "Look at the water jug, Dad."

Arnav glanced at the glass jug that sat beside his laptop. His brand new iPhone sat at the bottom, with two bright blocks to keep it company.

"Thank you, Blossom. It needed a wash."

* * *

 _ **Author's Note**_ _: This was a very short, very fluffy, piece about Arnav and Khushi's daughter, born 2-3 years after the show ended. I figure they waited at least a year before thinking of a second child - they suddenly found themselves as parents to an orphaned six year old and I think all three of them would need time to adjust._

 _In my head, her full name is Geeta Ratna Raizada. I chose Geeta because I assumed Khushi's mother would have a name started with G, and it came down to a decision between Geeta and Gauri. No 'Singh' because Anjali doesn't have Singh (AR is probably named after her, because if Arnav had named it after himself it would be ASR. He never forgets the Singh from his own name and Khushi took it as part of her name). I assume the girls born into the family don't have Singh as part of their names, and that it is passed through the male line on Nana's side._

Blossom _has a bit of a cult following now ... so I may post up more stories about her in the future! She's already present in a few OSs and prompts :)_


	16. Khushi's Laad Governor: Part 1

**Khushi's Laad Governor: Part 1**

 _Author's Note: I've always watched the typewriter scene at the beginning of IPK with fascination. It's a very simple scene on the surface but the closer you watch it, the more you realise how much going on._

 _Specifically, Khushi's eyes reveal a lot._

 _This is the first time Khushi glimpses_ _ **Arnav**_ _, the man behind ASR. It obviously had an impact on her beyond the comedy - their later exchange at the dining table proves that this incident humanises him in her mind._

 _It's also the morning after their_ Rabba Ve _moment in the carpark - holding one another in the rain, their faces mere inches apart. It's the day after the photo shoot - his eyes roving up and down her form, his lust undisguised, she staring at him in turn._

 _Surely, some of the emotion from last night lingers ..._

* * *

"Please don't take Mami's words to heart, she ..."

Khushi looked up at Anjali-ji, whose sweet, smiling face was pinched with concern.

"No, it's nothing like that," Khushi stretched her lips into a wide smile, ignoring the way her heart had dropped into her tummy at the insults, "Just ... where's Sir? I have to give him these papers and typewriter."

"Chhote is watering the plants by the poolside," Anjali-ji smiled, and Khushi marvelled, yet again, at how different she was from her arrogant, rude, bear of the brother.

"Watering plants?" she mumbled, trying to conjure up the image and failing miserably.

The great Arnav Singh Raizada, doing something as normal and – dare she even think it, _domestic_ \- as watering plants?

Surely not.

"Let's go, I'll take you there myself. Follow me."

"Anjali-bityaa," Nani-ji's voice rang out from some hidden corner of this gigantic house.

"Yes Nani, coming!" Anjali-ji called before smiling at Khushi, "Just go straight ahead, Chhote's room is at the end. Don't get lost this time."

"Okay," Khushi smiled at the joke.

Alone in the living room, Khushi allowed her smile to slip as she swallowed nervously, trying to gather the courage she needed to face her boss. She raised her hands in a quick prayer.

 _Hey Devi Maiyya please stay with me._

Upstairs, Khushi shuffled reluctantly along the corridor Anjali-ji had indicated, the files balanced in one hand and the typewriter in the other. She passed one set of closed doors after another.

 _Just how big is this house?_

She froze when she saw that the final pair of doors on the right-hand side of the corridor was ajar.

 _That must be his room._

Khushi approached warily, expecting him to swoop through the French doors at any moment and barrel past her, all stern and serious in a three-piece business suit and severely knotted tie. But he didn't appear, not even when she knocked tentatively, so she stepped inside.

She recognised it immediately as the room she'd found the goat – Lakshmi-ji – in. Then, she'd wondered how many people lived in its enormity. Now she knew.

One Laad Governor.

Sighing, Khushi looked around as she stepped over the threshold. The glass doors on her left led to a private pool.

 _Watering plants at the poolside_ , she recalled Anjali-ji's words.

 _Devi Maiyya, please protect me ... Khushi. You can do this. Just return the typewriter and the papers, and leave._

She stepped through the doors and froze. Her jaw dropped.

He was watering plants, just as his sister had said. He held a green watering can and seemed fully absorbed; singularly focussed on this one, bewildering task. Khushi blinked, trying to clear her vision, sure that she was hallucinating.

There was no way that Arnav Singh Raizada, the Laad Governor, was taking care of plants.

But he was still there when she opened her eyes.

His three-piece suit was gone, replaced by a dark sweater – its sleeves pushed up to his elbows – and light-coloured pants. The muscles in his back flexed as he moved, and she followed the line of them to his shoulders and arms. She could see the tension in the muscles there despite the fabric that covered them.

She was transported, instantly, to last night's adventure in the car park, where she'd wrapped her hands around those very muscles as he held her close. He'd been warm despite that rain that'd cascaded around them, plastering his hair to his forehead and causing his shirt and suit to cling to him.

 _Is he always that warm? What would it be like to just reach out and ..._

The idle thought caught her by surprise, and she quickly dropped her eyes to the ground.

 _Hai Devi Maiyya, what am I thinking?_

She swallowed down her inexplicable longing to do the unthinkable and approached just as he set the watering can down and turned. Her eyes dropped from his face and settled on his chest, focussing on the triangle of skin exposed by the V-neck of his sweater. His shirt and tie had always covered it before. Heat suffused through her as her skin prickled unexpectedly, and her eyes found the ground again as she blushed.

He seemed to register her presence in the same moment and Khushi saw his feet step up to the edge of the pool in an attempt to avoid their collision. He lost his balance.

"Sir!"

Her hand rose instinctively to catch him while he, in turn, wrapped a hand around her upper arm. They swayed as he balanced precariously. The typewriter fell, forgotten, as she steadied him. His momentum carried them both towards the pool, and now both of his hands were gripping her tightly in an effort to save them from an unscheduled dip.

The files dropped from her hands as she gripped onto him, pulling them both away from the pool. She over-corrected, his nearness turning her pulse erratic and exciting the butterflies that lived in her stomach, and he was forced to pull her back. Her gaze clashed with his, and suddenly, there wasn't enough air in the universe.

His eyes softened as he took her in, his mouth opening slightly in surprise. His hands, still on her upper arms, were warm, and their every movement – every slight tightening of his fingers – unravelled something inside her. She swallowed.

Khushi drowned – in his eyes, in his scent, in the raw physicality of him that never failed to rob her of sense and decorum. Overwhelmed by his intensity, she tore her eyes away from his face, only to find that her fingers were still twisted into the sleeve of his sweater.

She released him and felt his hands leave her at the same time. Inexplicably, she missed their warmth. She struggled to draw breath under the weight of his focussed scrutiny, her eyes roving along the floor in an effort to _not_ look up at him. A soft gasp escaped her when she glimpsed the ancient black case that held the typewriter floating in the pool, and his eyes left her to regard it.

Finally, she could breathe.


	17. Khushi's Laad Governor: Part 2

**Khushi's Laad Governor: Part 2**

 _Hai Devi Maiyya! Why can't one thing ... just one thing ... go right when I'm around this man?_

Khushi risked a glimpse at him but he turned his inscrutable gaze on her in the same moment. She quailed, her breath abandoning her in a rush as she swallowed in fear, and opted to drop to the pool's edge to retrieve the typewriter case rather than confront him.

She stretched and fetched the typewriter easily, trying to ignore the burn of his eyes as she watched the water pour out of the case.

 _Must he stare so ...?_

"What happened here, Khushi?"

Anjali-ji had arrived at the poolside in silence. Khushi looked up at her reluctantly, her cheeks heating in embarrassment. She stood quickly and tried to explain the bizarre tableau.

"Sir was falling. This fell as I was trying to save him."

 _He's your boss, Khushi. Your boss. And you hate him. He's cruel, Godless, perpetually angry._

His eyes snapped back to her.

"I was falling?" he repeated incredulously, "You were falling. I saved you."

Khushi's gaze dropped as she recalled him – this man who'd forced her to stand in the rain – saving her from being crushed under a car.

"And Di, how do you know her?"

She took advantage of his inattention to quickly gather up the fallen files, only half listening to Anjali-ji's explanation.

"She came a few days ago with saris. Nani liked her saris, and the way she spoke."

His stare was hard and unyielding when Khushi stood, and it was only in that moment that she realised how soft and ... inviting ... he'd been earlier. All at once, she realised how this looked.

He'd stood in a darkened car park and accused her of scheming for his money, interpreting her ill-considered and ill-timed request for his home address as a means of worming her way further into his life.

 _Oh Devi Maiyya, he must think his accusations have borne fruit._

Her horror made it difficult for her to meet his eyes, so she directed her words to his sister.

"Forgive me, I dropped the typewriter in the water."

Her gaze slid to him again, as though he were a magnet and she a piece of iron filing, destined to find him again and again no matter how much she fought. Already well acquainted with his fury, she noted with a sinking heart that he burned with it now. Unable to withstand the force of it, she lowered her eyes as Anjali-ji tried to reassure her.

"Oh don't worry, it wasn't your mistake. Chhote won't mind, right Chhote?"

But Khushi was sure that he did mind. A lot.

He turned to face his sister.

"Come, get ready quickly," Anjali-ji smiled, "Nani is waiting for you at breakfast. Let's go, Khushi."

Khushi jumped slightly, surprised by the invitation, and uttered a soft agreement as he pivoted back to her. She started to turn away, every muscle in her body tightened in anticipation of his anger.

"File?" his voice was iron.

 _File? What file?_

She blinked at him in confusion. He reached out and took the files from her hands.

"You can go now," her boss dismissed her without a glance, now irritably flicking through one of the files.

"What!?", Anjali-ji's protest was immediate, "How can she? She's been here all morning. You're unbelievable, Chhote."

"Di, she has a lot of work at the office, let her go."

Khushi swallowed nervously as they argued over her fate, apparently uncaring that she was still standing there and could hear every word.

"The office opens at nine," the steel in Anjali-ji's tone reminded Khushi that they were, in fact, brother and sister.

"Di, there's no need for this," he argued.

"There is. I said so," Anjali-ji turned to Khushi, "I won't let you leave without having tea."

Khushi opened her mouth to decline but froze under the weight of his angry stare. Her own eyes dropped.

 _Khushi Kumari Gupta. You are not a coward. Don't let this rakshas scare you._

She turned her eyes up to him as Anjali-ji spoke again.

"Don't look at him like that. He won't say anything. Come with me."

"Yes," Khushi mumbled, trembling slightly.

She followed Anjali-ji back into the house, acutely aware of his scalding regard with every step.

 _I'm a dead woman. He'll do a lot worse than throw me out of a window for this._

* * *

 **The End**


	18. When They Were: Part 1

**When They Were: Part 1**

 **When She Was ...**

When she was born, he was an experimental pinch in the chaos, a pair of unsteady hands that cradled her, a voice that shook – "Hi Khushi, I'm Arnav. I'm three years old and I'm your neighbour. You're tiny."

When she was two, he was a proud figure in a school uniform, a gift of her favourite dolly, a guest for afternoon tea with her toys – "Does Geeta want more tea?"

When she was five, he was a shout on the neighbourhood streets, a confusion of fireworks that terrified her on Diwali, a challenge on the sun-drenched days – "Khushi you can't play cricket with the boys" – and a grin that faded away as she proved she could.

When she was nine, he was a bully; a river of tears on her pillow, a string of hurtful names – "Chashmish", "Four-Eyes", "Snaggletooth" – and a vow to never forgive or forget.

When she was twelve, he was a tug on her pigtails, an inexplicable quickening of her heartbeat, a girlish wish in her diary – "Khushi Kumari Gupta Singh Raizada"

When she was fourteen, he was a tingle in her fingertips, electricity along her skin, a secret smile as she lay down to sleep, the first blush of her womanhood.

When she was fifteen, he was absence – an ache in her chest and a catch in her breath, a rush of joy when he returned for weekends and holidays, a smile on Diwali, a scowl on Holi.

When she was seventeen, he was a series of glances from across the room, a gentle but persistent flirtation, a stolen kiss, an embrace in the darkness, a soft-spoken promise of forever.

When she was eighteen, he was heartbreak, a stern warning from her father, a shadow that disappeared into the night, a note of apology on her windowsill, a collection of broken promises and painful memories.

When she was twenty, he was a mistake – she knew better, she did, she did – but he was a forbidden temptation and she was weakness – "You are my one regret, Khushi. I love you and I hate what I did to you."

When she was twenty-two, he was a suitor in her lounge-room, a pair of trembling hands that clutched a cup of her tea, a smooth, confident voice as he asked for her father's permission.

When she was twenty-three, he was a dream made reality, her future waiting for her at the _mandap_ , a _mangalsutra_ around her neck and _sindoor_ in her hair, a long awaited night of passion.

When she was twenty-five, he was the father of her child, a pair of unsteady hands, a voice that shook – "Hi Geeta, I'm your Daddy. You're tiny and perfect and Mummy and I love you so much."


	19. When They Were: Part 2

**When They Were: Part 2**

 **When He Was ...**

When he was three, she was a tiny bundle in his arms, a happy gurgle, a hand that reached up to grasp his nose, a whispered question to his mother – "Mamma, I was never this small, was I?"

When he was five, she was an obligatory visit every week, an annoyance to be suffered, a collection of boring, girly games he detested – "No, your dolly does _not_ want more tea."

When he was eight, she was a blur of brightness on the streets, a shriek of terror on Diwali, a stream of never-ending questions – "Do you want some _jalebi_? I made it myself. Babu-ji only helped a little bit. Why can't you eat sweets?"

When he was eleven, she was a wild gap-toothed giggle, a rush of tears when he teased, but everyone agreed that boys were _never_ friends with girls.

When he was fifteen, she was childish but cute, a bright smile, a swinging plait and a boost to his ego – "Arnav, you're just like Salman-ji!"

When he was eighteen, she was a flower in bloom, electricity on his skin and heat in his veins, and he wasn't the only one who noticed – "ASR, your neighbour is turning into a babe!"

When he was nineteen, she was a forbidden possibility, a dream that danced out of his reach with a peal of laughter, a face that haunted him in the moments of silence between class, a nameless yearning every time he returned home.

When he was twenty, she was temptation, a blush when her beautiful eyes met his, a small hand that trembled in his, a soft gasp as their lips met, a brash promise of forever that he couldn't quite regret.

When he was twenty-one, she was ruin, or maybe he was – "You've ruined her future!" – and he was a coward – "It meant nothing, Khushi. Nothing." – but he couldn't banish the thought she was _everything_.

When he was twenty-three, she was a magnetic pull, the comfort of home and the sweetness of forgiveness, and he was brave, finally the man she needed.

When he was twenty-four, she was sand slipping through his fingers, a prize to be won by the dozens of suitors at her door, a princess in a tower where her father kept guard.

When he was twenty-six, she was a long-wished-for salvation, a tremble dressed in red, a soft whisper at the _mandap_ – "Arnav, I love you." – a dream he woke to every morning thereafter.

When he was twenty-eight, she was the mother of his child, a happy giggle, a hand that reached up to hold him closer, and he was a question – "Khushi, I was never this small, was I?"


	20. Tangled

_Author's Note: One of the things that's always fascinated me about the third morning at Bua-ji's is Khushi and Arnav behaviour. They've both gotten up and changed, but are hanging out in the bedroom together. She's on the bed, huddled in a blanket, and he's working on his laptop. Bua-ji brings them both tea and Arnav makes fun of Khushi for being cold, then he gets up and flicks her rose because it's red (the first time he flicks her nose)._

 _I've always wondered what happened the night before to make them act this way - to make Arnav want to flirt with her. It's also my headcanon is that they slept holding each other every night at Bua-ji's. So I wrote this._

* * *

Arnav sighed as he rubbed a towel over his face. The day had been long and fraught with confusion. He hung the towel on the back of the chair, avoiding looking directly at the miniature statue of Devi Maiya that sat on the desk, and stepped to the small dressing table that held his phone. He checked that it was charged before pressing a button on the air conditioner's remote. Blessedly cool air flowed over him within seconds.

Yawning, he turned to the bed. His wife was already asleep – or pretending to be – curled into a small ball under a blanket. The bed squeaked as he slid in beside her.

"Unbelievable," he muttered.

The _Arnav Rekha_ he'd created the night before – the one Khushi had crossed in her sleep to lie alongside him, her leg over his and her fingers curled into his shirt – wasn't in evidence. He scowled, thinking of the hours of sleep he'd lost as he'd battled her chaotic pin-wheeling, but his annoyance faded as other memories surfaced. The way she'd returned to him, sliding closer and closer. The way her fingers had seemed reluctant to release him. The way she'd flung her leg over him, laying claim to him in her sleep.

 _Damn it. Get a grip, Arnav._

He glanced at her. She was dressed in _that_ night suit, the one that heated his blood (he suspected it had to do with how innocent she looked in white), with the blanket draped haphazardly over her waist. As he watched, she shivered slightly, pulling the blanket higher in an effort to get warm. Arnav reached for the remote without thinking, lowering the fan speed and setting the thermostat higher. She relaxed.

 _This_ , he mused, _is my favourite Khushi. The silent one_.

But deep down, he knew this was a lie, because his wife's silence meant that she was gravely hurt, dangerously angry, or deeply worried.

And anyway, he shouldn't have a favourite version of her, not when she ... and Shyam ...

Arnav's hands clenched into fists as he reeled from the onslaught of memories. He noted, dimly, through the haze of nausea and confusion, that they were distinctly less painful now. Their grip had lessened with every minute that separated him from Shantivan, and here, in her Bua-ji's home, in this ancient teak bed covered in pink gauze and golden stars, it was hard to believe Khushi capable of the vile things Shyam had implicated her in.

 _Khushi ..._

"Arnav-ji ..." she mumbled, as if in answer.

He'd been still before but now he was frozen, waiting for her to open her eyes with his breath stuck in his lungs. They'd left their conversation unfinished earlier – as they did with so many things – and her accusations still rang in his ears.

 _I don't want to fight with her._

The realisation surprised him. He'd always enjoyed their sparring, that sharp-edged flirtation that had defined them. She'd always fought back with ferocity and determination, a fire that ignited something within him in turn.

But she didn't wake. Khushi shifted restlessly, her hand snaking towards him until she met his arm. Her fingers curled around his bicep.

And still, he was frozen, heart pounding and lungs suddenly, _painfully_ , lacking air. The ache in his chest sharpened when she whispered his name again, her lips curling into a sweet smile. Arnav wished he could read her mind.

 _I wonder what she's dreaming of, what could bring that smile – and my name – to her lips._

"Jalebi," Khushi's smile widened into a grin.

He smirked. _Of course._

"Pagal," Arnav breathed, more affectionately than he'd intended.

He closed his eyes, succumbing to his fatigue almost instantly, but all thoughts of sleep flew away when Khushi's fingers tightened on his arm. She was frowning when he looked over, and her lower lip quivered slightly. She scooted closer, her legs sliding against the sheets until they collided with his. Thinking she was awake, Arnav began to chide her when she trembled violently, clutching at him desperately.

"Amma! Babu-ji! No!"

Something uncoiled inside his chest. He carefully slid his arms around her, holding her close as she shook.

"Khushi, wake up."

She whimpered, turning her face into his night shirt.

"Khushi, it's okay. Open your eyes."

She sobbed softly, curling into him as he rubbed small circles onto her back. She didn't wake, but the tremors in her body subsided. His hand continued to trace patterns onto her back as he recalled their conversation that morning.

 _I didn't sleep for a minute last night._

 _I always sleep like this._

 _Oh really? You haven't slept like this before._

 _How would you know? We've never slept on the same bed before._

He'd thought it would be a new kind of torture to lie inches from her, but it'd been surprisingly easy.

Domestic.

And Khushi had lied. He'd spent the last few months sleeping on his green sofa, mere feet from her as she slept on his bed. She spoke in her sleep – often and unreservedly – but she didn't shift restlessly as if seeking someone - Payal ... or him.

She'd never had a nightmare.

 _I was eight years old when my parents died in an accident. I still believe my parents have become stars, so I sleep with stars hanging above the bed. I'm still afraid of fast cars, afraid of sleeping alone, afraid of the dark._

 _But not in Shantivan_ , he realised with a jolt, _only here_.

He wondered if being back here, in this bedroom she'd only ever shared with her sister, brought her childhood fears closer to the surface. He wondered if she felt safer in Shantivan than she did here. He wondered if she felt safe now, tucked securely against him.

Arnav tried to untangle himself, to preserve the distance that had been – and must remain – between them, but Khushi made a soft noise of protest and held tighter.

"Arnav-ji," she mumbled in her sleep, "I made you _jalebi_."

He stilled.

"Sugar-free," her hand fisted his shirt, "because you're my husband. _Pati Parmeshwar_."

His pulse skittered, as it always did when she claimed him as hers.

 _Husband_.

His eyes found the _sindoor_ in her hair as she spoke again.

"I don't look like one of Delhi's rickshaws."

"What the–" he whispered, tilting his head to consider the sleeping woman in his arms.

Khushi's arms tightened around him. He tried to ignore the heat that surged through him.

"Don't have to eat his name, Khushi, he's your husband."

 _She's going to drive me insane._

For several long moments the only sound in the room came from his own erratic breathing. When he was sure she'd settled down, Arnav tried to free himself.

"Arnav-ji," the protest was instant, and so was his surrender.

"Ssshhh, Khushi," he mumbled into her hair as weakness flooded him, "I've got you. You're safe."


	21. Baby Corn

**Baby Corn**

" _Ee lo babua._ " [Here you go, _babua_.]

Khushi's Bua-ji placed a chipped ceramic plate in front of him, heaped with pasta in a creamy sauce. Arnav eyed the concoction of fettuccine, broccoli, baby corn, zucchini and shallots. His stomach growled.

"Bua-ji, what's all this?" Khushi, sitting across from him at the antiquated dining table, frowned at his plate.

He found himself mimicking her, frowning as he muttered, "Bua-ji ... you didn't have ..."

Madhumati-ji waved a hand in his direction, silencing the beginnings of his protest, "It was nothing, _babua_. Eat, eat!"

Garima-Aunty smiled encouragingly.

He wondered if he should eat with his hands.

"Honestly, you lot," Khushi stood, rounding the table as she spoke, "I know he's your _damaad_ , but this is all unnecessary. Arnav-ji is perfectly happy eating _daal_."

Her mother started to protest, following her into the kitchen to exchange hushed words, and they emerged together a few seconds later. Khushi held a fork.

"Be quiet, _Sanka Devi_ ," grumbled her Bua-ji, "I know you were behind that farce earlier. Forcing _babua_ to fix everyone's things as if he's a mechanic, not the owner of so many stores and factories. And then your stunt with the hose, shaming him in public like that."

Khushi handed him the fork, her fingers brushing over his and sending electricity shooting through his body. His hand tightened into a fist, wishing more than anything that he could halt her progress, wrap an arm about her waist and pull her down to sit next to him. Hold her hand under the table.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts as Khushi resumed her seat and frowned - again - at his plate.

"Bua-ji, did you only make this pasta-vasta for your _damaad_ , or is there some _aloo_ for me?"

Realising why she was miffed, Arnav smirked at his wife as he wound the fork around some pasta.

"Bua-ji forgot to make you your _aloo_ ," he drawled, "busy as she was with my food."

He glanced over at her mother and her aunt, where they fussed over her father, and leaned across the table to murmur, "She likes me better."

Khushi released a frustrated growl. The sound threatened to ignite him.

 _You're pretty when you're angry_ , he'd told her in the first week of their marriage, and it had never seemed truer.

Arnav watched his wife seethe as he forked the pasta into his mouth. Flavours melted on his tongue. It was tasty, a basic alfredo sauce spiced with something he couldn't identity. He speared some baby corn.

"Arnav- _bitwa_ ," Garima-Aunty spooned some _paneer_ onto her own _thaal_ , "did you like that ... baby _korrrun_?"

"Yes Aunty, it's ... everything is wonderful," he smiled at his mother-in-law, "Thank you."

" _Oo ka hai, babua_ ," Bua-ji patted his hand as she came to sit beside him, "your kind of food is so confusing. _Makkai ka bachcha_. Bayybbeee kooorrruunn."

Khushi giggled as she reached for a _puri_ , her eyes flicking briefly to his before lowering. He smiled.

"Bua-ji, you really didn't have to. Khushi is right, I'm fine eating as you do."

 _But I can't tell you how much it means to me that you did._

Nani tended to sneer at his preference for soups, sandwiches and Italian cuisine, and although Di had tried to make him the things he liked when she'd first returned to Shantivan, she'd quickly given up. He'd indulged in his taste for outside food over lunch, but that had stopped when Khushi started her _dabba_ service. Though he wouldn't admit it, even on pain of death, he looked forward to his wife's cooking every day.

Consciously or not, she made his favourite foods at least twice a week, and never forgot to include a sugar free treat for dessert. He suspected that she also used a lighter hand than usual when she prepared his food, perhaps recalling his distaste for spice and oil. He wondered if he could manipulate her into preparing pasta and pizza.

 _Just ask her, Arnav._

He brooded over a piece of broccoli as he eyed her. Khushi reached for a second _puri_ and some pickled mango. She was gorgeously dressed in a pink _kameez_ and matching pink bangles. She'd stopped wearing his mother's kangan since his outburst over calling Garima-ji _Amma_ , perhaps unwilling to remind him of Mamma every day. He didn't know how to tell her that he wanted her to wear them; that it never failed to awe him, seeing his mother's blessings on her every single day.

 _Her Amma's payal, and my Mamma's kangan._

It seemed perfect.

But admitting anything, whether it was the truth about the _kangan_ or his desire to eat whatever she made, would be admitting defeat, and he would not lose to her. He couldn't, not when she held so much of him already.

Not when she ...

Arnav drained a steel glass of water, desperately trying to fight the disgust that bubbled inside him. Khushi looked up, concerned. The feeling subsided under her watchful gaze, and eventually, he was able to breathe freely. He shook his head slightly at his wife, indicating that he was fine.

Khushi flicked her eyes to her parents, and then her aunt, but everyone seemed absorbed in their food. Bua-ji was telling a story of some taxi driver who'd tried to swindle her. Arnav raised an eyebrow at Khushi as she reached over and plucked the fork from his fingers. She speared some vegetables and popped them into her mouth, grinning, and then closed her eyes as she chewed. A soft moan escaped her.

"Bua-ji, is there any more of Arnav-ji's food?" she asked, eyes still closed.

"Have the rest of mine," Arnav pushed the plate towards her.

She shook her head, so he took her _thaal_ from her and replaced it with his plate, ignoring her protests. The conversation at the table stalled as everyone stared at her.

"Khushi! Why have you stolen _babua's_ food?" Bua-ji asked, incensed.

She tried to wrench the plate away, and Arnav watched as the beginnings of Khushi's smile slipped. His heart wrenched for her.

 _I shouldn't have teased about Bua-ji liking me more._

Here, in this household with the aunt who'd abandoned her on the day of her _Pag Phere_ and the mother who'd slapped her, Khushi was never allowed to forget that she was an orphan, taken in by Aunty and Uncle at the tender age of eight. She never voiced it, but Arnav suspected that his wife saw the differences in how she and her sister were treated.

"It's okay, Bua-ji," he interrupted the scolding, "She's my wife. She's entitled to whatever I eat."

Bua-ji subsided, sinking back into her seat, but Arnav's eyes found those of his wife. She took her quivering bottom lip between her teeth, her gaze lit with some kind of desperation.

 _She looks as though she wishes it were real. All of it. Our marriage, our love. My respect._

And as usual, he wished it were, wished it so desperately that it terrified him. He knew, in the depths of himself, that if she ever repeated what she'd begun on Holi – _Why does my heart race whenever you're near?_ – she'd shatter through his defences.

"Eat," he urged his wife softly, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting desires and futile wishes.

Khushi pushed the food around on the plate.

Arnav stood with a sigh and rounded the table to sit next to her. Ignoring the curious gazes of her family, he tore a piece of _puri_ and scooped up some pasta before holding it to her lips. She looked at him, silently questioning.

"This seems like the kind of _pagal_ thing you would do," he shrugged.

Bua-ji let out a peal of delighted laughter.

"Well, _Parmeshwari_ , you certainly picked a diamond for a husband. Just as _sanki_ as you! A _Sanka Dev_ to stay with our _Sanka Devi_."

He smiled, almost involuntarily, liking the way it sounded. Khushi allowed him to feed her the morsel, smiling hesitantly as well.

"Khushi."

They all turned to Aunty, who grinned as she gestured to Uncle. He was laughing, albeit silently. Khushi gasped, scraping her chair backwards and bouncing over to her father. Her eyes shone with happiness and relief as she wrapped her arms around him.

"Babu-ji likes you," Khushi addressed him over her father's head, "But don't think too much of it. He still likes me best."

She grinned proudly, patting her father's shoulders gently before holding his hands between hers. Arnav leaned back in his chair, watching as Khushi fed Uncle with a spoon and recounted her observations from the talent contest. The small room rang with laughter as Khushi described some of the performances. He pushed everything aside, forced it deep within himself, and allowed himself this one night where he shared pasta and _puri_ with Khushi and took her family's teasing with a smile.

One night where he could pretend.

" _Babua_ ," Bua-ji began later, waving him away as he tried to help clear the table, "how was your _makkai ka bachcha_? _Bachcha makkai_."


	22. Tu Jaane Na

**Tu Jaane Na**

 _Just wait. The day that girl comes into your life ... Without whom your heart will stop beating. Without whom you won't be able to live. You'll feel as though your very breath will stop if you don't have her ... Whenever something comes into your heart, you should say it immediately._

His sister's words rang in his ears as he navigated the spiralled staircase that led to the terrace. Arnav took the stairs two at a time, his pulse racing and his body almost thrumming with anticipation. His heart somehow managed to beat to the rhythm of her name.

Khushi, Khushi, Khushi.

He stopped at the door at the top of the stairs, breathing deeply to steady his nerves before patting the pocket of his suit, reassuring himself that the small box he'd snatched from his wardrobe safe was still there. Then, with the image of her shy smile swimming behind his eyelids, he swung the door open.

Arnav froze in the doorframe.

Khushi stood with her back to him, still clad in the burnt-orange _salwaar_ suit she'd worn during the day. Her hand was extended towards one of the strings of fairy lights decorating the temporary stage Di had arranged for family photographs. Her hair was still unbound, and his hand curled into a fist as he reined in his desire to run his fingers through it.

 _All in good time, Arnav._

Some sixth sense alerted Khushi to his presence, and she chose that moment to turn. Her eyes met his as she smiled tentatively. Arnav approached slowly, watching the twist and untwist of her hands as her eyes found the floor, and came to a stop at the edge of the stage, unwilling to add to her anxiety.

"Khushi," he hoped she couldn't hear the tremble in his voice, "I need to speak with you."

"Wh-why?"

Her chest rose and fell as her breath came in heaving gasps, and he recognised the beginnings of panic.

"Relax," Arnav urged, taking two steps forward as the impulse to comfort her swelled within him.

She responded by scrambling backwards until her back hit the pillar she was closest to.

"What's so important?" she asked, "I have to help Jiji get ready, and I'm sure your family needs you. There's a wedding going on, Arnav-ji. And you ... you have no right to call me up here like this, all alone. What if someone sees us?"

Khushi's voice solidified as she spoke, until her chin was jutting up in defiance and the spark was back in her eyes. He twisted his mouth into a grimace even as a part of him recognised that her words were an attempt to navigate the unknown. She must suspect what he'd come here to say, especially after the _bindi_ -on-the-mirror gesture earlier.

 _Today I'm going to reveal why you, and everything connected to you, matters. Kyun farak padta hai, Khushi. Aur hamesha padega. [Why it matters, Khushi. And always will.]_

"Oh really," Arnav instilled as much sarcasm as possible into his tone, "I have no right?"

"N-no."

"Ahh. I assumed I did since you're wearing the bangles I gave you. You've been wearing them all day."

 _In fact, I doubt you took them off to sleep._

Khushi's eyes flicked to the red-orange-gold bangles that adorned her wrists.

"Why are you still wearing them?" he pressed, "Who am I to you?"

"They're ... uhh ... well ... they were the only thing I could find that matched this suit," she claimed, adorably defiant.

"And you could only find an orange one to wear this morning?"

"I'm leaving," she announced, "unless you tell me why you invited me up here."

"No. I didn't invite you up here. I followed when I saw you heading upstairs."

"There was a message on my mirror," she looked at her shoes, blushing, "written in my lipstick. I know it was you."

"What the f–!"

A possessive, jealous rage rose within him as he considered what she was saying. She was only here because _someone else_ had invited her to the terrace. Arnav opened his mouth to ask for more details but the sound of a door clicking closed distracted them both. The door to the terrace was shut when they turned.

He was struck by a sudden idea. "Di."

"Or Nani-ji," Khushi echoed the flavour of this thoughts.

 _Match-making._

"Wait," he finally processed what she'd said earlier, "You came up here because you thought I'd invited you?"

Khushi's blush turned her cheeks and nose pink, but she managed a quick nod. Arnav stepped closer.

"If I ask you to meet me later tonight, will you come?" a gentle intimacy stole into his voice. He reached out to hold her hand, "Meet me here after dinner. Make sure no one sees you."

"But why?" she blinked up at him.

"Just come up here. Don't ask too many questions."

"I won't come if you won't answer my questions."

"Careful. Remember – after tonight, your sister's life is in my hands."

As expected, outrage flared in her eyes. She wrenched her hand away as she looked at him in disbelief.

"What are you saying? Are you threatening Jiji?"

Shrugging nonchalantly, Arnav watched as her outrage hardened into anger. He silently congratulated himself that she was following the script he'd imagined for her.

"You're despicable. What kind of brother are you?"

"You know me, Khushi," he drawled, "You know what I can do."

"I know," she turned away, wringing her hands, "I know and I still thought ... I don't know why I trusted you ..."

 _Stop tormenting her, Arnav._

 _But she's breathtaking when she's fired up like this._

"Don't try to protect her," he warned, instilling menace into his tone.

"Of course I will," Khushi turned back, almost shaking with fury, "My Jiji is everything to me. I'll protect her, I won't allow her to suffer at the hands of a blood-thirsty _Laad Governor_ like you!"

His affected anger gave way to true rage. He didn't mind when she used the moniker affectionately, but the way she'd just snarled it fanned his anger to flame.

"Shut up, Khushi," he closed the distance between them.

Arnav held her elbow and twisted her arm behind her to hold her flush against himself. Her hand came up to rest on his chest as she gasped at their sudden closeness, and his anger flew apart at that small sound.

"What are you doing?" she struggled against him.

 _Shut up, you infuriating woman. Let me say what I need to say._

"You're pretty when you're angry."

Khushi froze when she registered the words that had bubbled out of him unplanned. She stayed where she was when he released her. Arnav traced a light finger from her temple to her jaw before cupping her face, watching as she closed her eyes. She'd never been able to hide the devastation his touch created. Her lips trembled as her breath fanned over him, and his own breath shortened at the sight of her unrestrained response.

"In fact ... you're beautiful," his thumb traced her cheekbone as he spoke, "I know a way you can protect your sister. You could watch over her every day if you lived in Shantivan."

"WHAT?"

Outraged, Khushi stepped backwards, but halted when he seized her wrist.

"Have you gone mad?" she shrieked, twisting in his hold, "Do you even know what you're saying?"

 _Damn it. How does this always happen? I was meant to tell her how I feel before proposing. And here I've suggested ..._

Using his distraction to her advantage, she broke free with a particularly energetic twist of her wrist, and hissed in pain as she twirled away. Concern washed over him.

"Are you hurt?" he reached for her.

"Leave. Just leave me alone."

"Khushi, let me–"

"–How could you, Arnav-ji?" Khushi released half a sob as she stepped away from him, "I thought you, of all people, would know how I feel. I'm worried. You ... downstairs you said that you understand. I thought you'd watch out for Jiji. That you'd protect her. After today, and yesterday, I thought that we were ... but no. You're threatening her happiness and suggesting something so ..."

There was a sharp ache inside him, a hollow somewhere in his chest. Arnav stepped up and applied gentle pressure to her shoulders until she turned. Her eyes watered as she inspected her injured wrist.

"Are you hurt?" he took her hand again.

Khushi shook her head angrily as he traced his thumb over her skin in soothing circles. Slowly, her anger gave way to something else. Her pulse raced under his fingertips when he raised her hand and pushed aside the bangles to reveal the small bandage covering her wound from last night. He ached with the need to soothe it with his lips.

"Does this still hurt?" he whispered.

Shaking her head, Khushi opened her mouth to speak – perhaps to protest this intimacy– but he silenced her with a finger to her lips. She froze, her eyes flicking down to his hand, before trying to speak again.

"Uh uh," he murmured, "Quiet. Hear me out."

She stared up at him, wide-eyed.

"Khushi, I'm saying that you should marry me and move into my house."

There was a moment of absolute stillness, as if the entire world held its breath, waiting for her reaction. She blinked slowly. She took two quick breaths before shaking her head slightly.

"What?" she asked breathlessly.

"Marry me," his heart gallopped, so fast it was almost painful.

"No!"

Arnav pressed his lips together as his anger flared, but managed to remind himself that he'd anticipated this before it spiralled out of control. He turned to walk away, and felt her take his hand before he'd taken two steps. He sighed in relief as he turned back, pressing his fingers against hers.

"I meant," Khushi spoke to his shoulder, "I meant that if you're serious then you have to do this properly. Tell Nani-ji, and then come with your proposal to Amma and Babu-ji."

"I know. I'll do all that after Aakash's wedding, but right now I'm asking you."

"Why? I don't understand."

He released her to run a hand through his hair, "What's there to understand?"

"You ... you're being impulsive. You haven't thought this through. You ... and me ..."

Arnav reached into his pocket to bring out a small red box, "I've thought about it. I know what I'm doing."

"How ... when ..." her eyes asked the question that her lips seemed incapable of forming.

"The _mehendi_? When I disappeared for two hours and my phone was off? I was having it designed. I picked it up earlier today."

"You lied to Anjali-ji ..." Khushi whispered as her eyes lit up with understanding.

"I couldn't tell her before I told you."

"Told me ... what?"

"That I'm the only man you'll meet by the poolside, the only man you'll sneak up to the terrace to meet, the only man who will buy you bangles and help you pick out a _sari_. That there's no one else I'd ever become a waiter for. No one else I'd dance for. Khushi, that there's no one else I'd ever say these words to."

"Why?" she pressed, blinking away tears.

"Aakash says it's love."

Khushi stepped forward, "And ... what do you think?"

Taking her left hand, he bent his head to place a gentle kiss to her ring finger, "I think that you still haven't answered my question."

"You have to ask Amma and Babu-ji," she reminded him.

Arnav pulled her closer, sliding an arm around her waist, "And what if I ask them, and they ask you, and you say no? I'm saving a lot of time by going to you directly."

"I'd never refuse ..." she trailed off, blushing and resting her head against his shoulder to hide.

Chuckling, he brought his hands together behind her back and slid the ring out of its box. "Yeah. That's what I thought. Give me your hand."

Her hand trembled in his. She let out a soft gasp when she saw the ring – a cushion-cut diamond surrounded by a diamond encrusted band in platinum. Arnav slid it onto her finger slowly, savouring the moment, and pulled her into an embrace when it was done.

"I'll ask formally as soon as I can," he promised, "In fact, I'll talk to Nani and Di tomorrow night, after Aakash and Payal's reception."

"No," Khushi lifted her head to look at him, "Jiji and Jija-ji will still have lots of rituals to complete. Wait until next week."

"Next week?" he groaned, "I was hoping to be married by next week."

"Arnav-ji, that's not how this works! You saw how everything was for Jiji and Jija-ji's wedding."

"Yeah, everything took so damned long."

He chuckled when Khushi poked his arm in warning, annoyed at his language.

"Oh no," another thought struck him, "They'll watch us all the time and keep us away from each other. Aakash mentioned that he saw Payal more before the _shagun_ than he did after."

"Arnav-ji ..."

"Let's elope," he suggested, only half-joking, "We'll go as soon as Aakash and Payal are married. I'll take you to a temple and we'll get married tonight."

Khushi jerked away, "You're not serious!"

"No," Arnav sighed, "I'm not. I'd never ask you to ... But try to understand. Aakash and Payal's wedding took three months!"

He tugged on her hand, urging her closer, and smiled when she stepped back into his embrace. He breathed in the jasmine scent of her hair as he ran his hand through it. Khushi studied her ring as her hand rested on his shoulder.

"It's beautiful."

 _You're beautiful_.

Arnav slowly brushed her hair from her face before cupping her cheek, smiling at the way she leaned into his touch. Her eyes closed. Her lips trembled.

He'd warned himself to take it slowly. He'd tried to temper his desire with the reminder that Khushi still gasped every time their hands brushed. But the way she reacted to his touch eroded his resolve. He raised his other hand to cup her face, deliberately taking them back to that other stolen moment, and dipped his head to brush his lips across her cheek. Khushi hands tightened where they gripped his shoulders as she let out a sigh.

He ignited.

"There's something I've been meaning to finish for months," he traced his thumb over her lips.

His mouth met hers in a whisper of a kiss - more a suggestion of one than what he'd dreamt of since Diwali – and then he pulled away. But Khushi's fingers tightened on his arms, holding him in place, and his control shattered.

Arnav returned to her, one hand slipping from her face to her waist as he captured her lips in a heated kiss. His other hand found the silk-softness of her hair. His pulse thrummed with desire as she pressed closer and started to respond, tentatively mimicking his movements. She gasped as he slid his tongue across her bottom lip, allowing him to deepen their kiss. When she trembled in his arms, her body deliciously weakened, he tightened his hold to support her. Khushi's arms skated up, one hand finding the back of his neck and the other tangling in his hair. She tasted of sunshine and miracles, and of the sweetness of forgiveness. She pulled him closer. Then he groaned as she slid her tongue artlessly along his, trying to return his kiss, and knew that he would never forget this moment. Her floral scent, her gentle fingers on his nape, her soft sounds.

They broke apart slowly, and only because they needed to breathe. He pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek as they held each other. He closed his eyes against his faint dizziness, his pulse suddenly loud in his ears.

"Arnav-ji?" Khushi whispered against his heart.

"Mmmm?"

"I'm glad Aman-ji didn't call this time."

Arnav chuckled, "Me too."

He pulled out his phone as he spoke. Khushi shifted, trying to step away, but he held her in place as frowned at the screen. Three missed calls from Di, and one new text message - _"Chhote, where are you?"_

"We should go down," he sighed, "Di's looking for me."

Khushi glanced at his phone before giving a short shriek.

" _Hey Devi Maiyya_! Look at the time! Arnav-ji everyone will be looking for me! I have to get Jiji ready and then get changed and check on everything before the ceremony starts!"

He followed as she rushed to the door and yanked it open without pausing. He ran down the stairs with his hand extended towards her, ready to catch her in case she slipped. She paused at the bottom, smiling up at him shyly, and he used her hesitation to pull her close.

"Two more minutes," Arnav suggested, suddenly reluctant to part from her.

"Arnav-ji!"

"What are you wearing tonight?" he murmured against her cheek, savouring her warmth.

"Red and blue."

His lips curled into a smile as he lifted his head to consider her, "I like you in red. It's my favourite colour."

Khushi nodded, blushing, "I know."

Warmth spread through him at her soft confession. Arnav kissed her cheek before releasing her.

"See you soon. I'll be the one in black standing next to your Aakash-Jija-ji."

She grinned before fleeing, but didn't make it far before she stopped and turned to look at him. She hurried back, running bodily into him as she wound her arms around his neck. He stepped backwards until he came up against the wall of the corridor, pulling her along.

"Arnav-ji ..." she murmured his name as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, "I'm so happy."

"Khushi ..." his lips sought hers again.

* * *

"Khushi."

Arnav bolted upright, breathing hard as the dream faded away. He lifted his head to consider the woman sleeping in her makeshift bed by the poolside, buried a blanket. She slept peacefully, unheeding of the pain and longing coursing through him.

 _All a dream._

That was all that was left between them – a ghost of a dream. One that he'd thought they'd dreamt together, until he'd witnessed the truth on the terrace. Arnav leaned back onto his pillow, trying to get comfortable again.

He felt vile, as if the dream – in showing his deepest, most secret desire – had twisted him inside out, exposing his ugliness to the world. A failure of a son, and a catastrophe of a brother.

 _In love with the woman who threatens my sister._

He turned so he couldn't see his wife and closed his eyes, striving for sleep. But his mind raced as a battle raged within him, the small part of him that believed in Khushi's innocence - the part that still loved her – refusing to give in to his logical reasoning. He'd seen what he'd seen, heard what he'd heard, and Shyam had all but confirmed his deepest fears.

 _But Khushi hasn't_.

That small truth was like a ray of hope. Sometimes, it was the only thing that gave him the strength to face the day, to endure the sight of his sister as she fawned over her husband.

To endure the sight of that filthy snake leering at Khushi.

 _My Khushi._

Arnav gripped his sheets in anger, trying to banish the memory of his dream, where she'd held onto him with something akin to desperation. Where he'd finally kissed her, and she'd kissed him back. Where he'd confessed everything that had been in his heart on that fateful night. But when his eyes closed, his mind took him back to the terrace, back into her embrace, with his lips hovering over hers.

Tomorrow, he would be strong for his sister, for his family, for himself.

But tonight, he was weakness.


	23. Kuch Kuch Hota Hai

**Kuch Kuch Hota Hai**

"Salman-ji is back!" Khushi squealed, bouncing on the sofa next to him as Salman Khan appeared on screen.

Smiling, Arnav pulled his wife back into his embrace as she grinned at the TV. They were taking advantage of a rare weekend of freedom at the farmhouse. Popcorn and jalebi sat on the low table in front of them, and _Kuch Kuch Hota Hai_ was nearing its end. Aarav, bored with the movie some fifteen minutes in, had retreated to his bedroom.

"I thought we were finally watching a movie without your beloved Salman-ji when you picked this," he confessed as he fed Khushi some popcorn, "I'd forgotten he was in it."

They watched in silence for a while, his arm about her shoulders and his fingers idly tracing over her collarbone. She smacked his hand when his fingers ventured too far south, so he settled back and counted the minutes until the movie ended. It was all pointless dramatics at this point; Rahul and Anjali's future had been decided long before their sensual dance in the rain.

Arnav's mind wandered to another too-sensual dance, his fingers tangled in Khushi's hair and his hand running under the pallu of her sari. Desire ran through him like wildfire.

"Salman-ji is so nice," his wife, unaware of his plight, gushed, "he loves her so much that he lets her go. Do you love me that much?"

"What the f–!" his lust vanished in an instant, replaced by bewildered anger.

"Do you love me that much?" she repeated, grinning up at him.

For a moment, there was white blinding rage that she'd questioned his love, his dedication, eighteen months after he'd married her for a second time. He released her, breathing hard, his tongue already forming words to throw at her.

Then another memory hit him, bitter and sharp and cold, and he was suddenly breathless with anguish.

Khushi noted the change in him and stiffened in response, perhaps feeling the sudden tension in his body or seeing the coldness in his eyes. Excitement and happiness leached out of her expression.

"Arnav-ji ..."

"There was a time," he began, forcing the words out despite the constriction in his chest that made it hard to breathe, "there was a week where you were not mine to want, a week where you'd chosen another future for yourself despite the truth that shone in your eyes."

She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply. "Arnav-ji ..."

"I died a hundred times in that week, only to be reborn and die once again," Arnav closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers, "Don't ever, _ever_ , ask me that again. Understand?"

The pain of those days had torn him to shreds, leaving behind a husk of a man who'd needed to torment her ... to watch her bleed and satisfy himself that she felt a fraction of the agony he did.

"I was just–"

"–You were just asking a silly question. I know. Understand this, Khushi, it would destroy me to see you walk away with someone else."

She kissed him, gentle and soft, as her hands came up to cradle his face. His fingers splayed across her back as he returned her kiss, on the edge of desperation. The movie forgotten, Khushi led him to their bedroom, locking the door before rushing to him.

"I'm sorry," she pressed kisses to his face, his neck, his lips, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Arnav kissed her, hard, hot, demanding. She matched his fire with her own. Slowly, as their clothes rustled to the floor and her murmurs turned into sighs, his anguish was replaced by her love. Their kisses gentled. She soothed away the roughened edges of his distress, turning it bit by bit into another ache, one that only she could ease.

Later, as she lay boneless and satiated next to him, skin sweat sheened and hair in wild disarray, he found that he was able to joke.

"Next time, I pick the movie."


	24. Teri Khair Mangdi

**Teri Khair Mangdi**

 **Khushi**

"Didi, the Shaitaan," the child trembled in front of her, "the Shaitaan said that he would eat me."

"What?!"

"W-well, you see … the plants give him power, so we took them away from him. He has to … has to eat Harpreet if he wants them back."

Khushi fought a smile.

"B-but then he said he was hun-hungry," Nikhil sobbed, "and that he wants to eat me instead."

 _Laad Governor._

Fondness surged within her. Khushi bit her lip as she knelt to console Nikhil, who was now messily mopping up his tears.

"I'll go and set him straight," she said firmly, "No one is eating anyone."

She wiped his face with her _dupatta_ before turning to the other children she was tutoring.

"Pinky, you're in charge. Finish telling Sundari's story while I deal with the Shaitaan."

"No!" the children hugged her in unison.

"He'll eat you too!" Nikhil fretted, "He's still hungry."

A giggle escaped her before she could stop it. "I'll be fine, _beta_."

Khushi ventured out into the corridor after leaving strict instructions for the children to stay in the guest bedroom. A sharp memory of a broken model and a moustache drawn on a photo frame surfaced. Another short giggle bubbled out of her, but it soon morphed into a sob of longing.

 _So much has changed. And yet … nothing at all._

She found Arnav-ji pacing the poolside restlessly, muttering under his breath. He froze when he saw her.

"Khushi, those bloody kids …" he snarled.

"They're children Arnav-ji, they don't know any better."

He glared, "They're not innocent."

"Did you really threaten to eat Nikhil?"

"I'm only living up to the name you've given me. Shaitaan."

Her heart thudded almost painfully as she watched his mouth twist in anger.

 _And Rajkumar._

"Where the hell are my plants?" Arnav-ji asked, looking around again in frustration, "If I find that you had anything to do this, Khushi, I swear—"

"—I didn't do anything," she objected, "I've come to help you look."

He glanced sidelong at her, disbelieving. "Why?"

 _You love those plants. And I love …_

"I have to get back to the children, Arnav-ji," Khushi took a shaky breath, "Do you want my help or not?"

Her husband bit his lip as he considered her. She tried to ignore the tremble that rose in her body at his intent perusal.

"Where should we start?" he asked finally.

"They're children," she said reasonably, "they can't have carried so many plants too far."

Arnav-ji turned to the stairs leading to the terrace, "Up there?"

"No," she said quickly, dread swelling within her, "Not there."

She hadn't been to the terrace since the night of their elopement. She doubted she'd ever climb those stairs without reliving the ordeal Shyam-ji had put her through. Khushi wrung her hands, clasping and unclasping them in a futile attempt to calm her racing pulse, as a sob rose in her throat.

"Let's check inside first," her voice trembled.

He didn't seem to notice her distress. Nodding, Arnav-ji gestured for her to lead the way. She was sure she felt the burn of his gaze on her back as she navigated the corridors.

"You know …" he began casually, "that … Nikhil, did you say his name was? … He was blackmailing me. Gave me a contract to sign. He's going places."

Khushi turned, fighting a smile, to find him fighting a smile of his own. Heat rushed through her at the sight and she turned away abruptly, clutching her _dupatta_.

 _Oh Devi Maiyya. When he does that I …I …_

Her husband gave a frustrated sigh as they searched the study, "We should just ask them."

"No," Khushi peeked behind a cabinet, "You've already scared them half to death. Leave them be."

Arnav-ji gave a soft snort as he twitched the curtains aside, "Good."

"You really are a Shaitaan."

Her pulse stalled as he lifted his head to look at her. A tempest swirled in his eyes. But he looked away without saying anything.

 _He seems … hurt …_

But that was impossible, wasn't it? He was no longer _her_ Arnav-ji, the man who'd laughed and flirted with her, the man who'd danced with her and become a waiter for her, the man who'd kissed her at the poolside.

She followed him down the stairs to the sitting area, watching discreetly as he rounded the sofas. Her heart seemed to ache, longing for the impossible.

 _Where did we go wrong? How did we end up here?_

"Are you going to help?" he growled, "or are you just going to stand there?"

Jumping slightly, Khushi returned to her search. But she was half-hearted in her attempt, her eyes wandering listlessly before finding his form again and again as he bent to check under and behind furniture. She turned away with a sigh.

And there, behind the dining table, were his plants.

"Arnav-ji … your plants …"

He was beside her in an instant, following her gaze, "Finally."

He strode over quickly and then knelt to examine his precious pots. Khushi followed, her feet ambling with reluctance as she realized her time with him was coming to an end.

"They seem fine," he examined the pot closest to him, "I'll get Hari Prakash to move them back to our … to the poolside."

And just like that, her lungs were empty of air. Because the sight of him, gently running his finger along a bright leaf, evoked another memory. His fingers trailing over her skin as he bent close, blowing the dirt from her eye. The caress of his thumb across the delicate skin of her cheek on Holi, as he'd blown powder from her eye.

 _"Our heartbeats become one."_

"I'll go back to the children then," Khushi tried to blink back her tears.

She was halfway to the stairs when his fingers wrapped around her elbow, "Wait."

Heat travelled through her body in a rush as he tugged at her, bringing her closer. She revelled in the familiarity of his scent, all leather and earth and wood.

"How does it end?" his voice jolted her back to the present.

"W-what?"

"The story. Sundari and the Sh-Shaitaan. How does it end?"

His voice was soft, saturated with some emotion she couldn't identify. His fingers brushed her waist as he stepped even closer.

"How does it end, Khushi?"

Her eyes fluttered closed as he bent towards her.

"Does she know?" his words were a soft whisper, "Does she know how much it hurts him too?"

 _Oh Devi Maiyya._

"Does she know he doesn't want to be that man? _Rajkumar_ and _Shaitaan_ both."

For one impossible moment, she thought he was referring to himself. And as silly as that seemed, the alternative was even less plausible: that he was interested in her narration of a children's tale.

She found him mere inches away when she opened her eyes, so close that she could see the caramel flecks in his eyes. Her heart hammered.

"They … uhh …"

"Forget it."

His hands trailed across her waist in the moments before he released her, something akin to annoyance etched into his features. Khushi watched him walk away, her heart heavy.

"They're happy."

Arnav-ji turned at her words, expression unreadable.

"They're happy in the end," she said softly, "They find a way."

He nodded, saying nothing as he continued on his way to the plants, and she turned back to the stairs after a beat of hesitation.

The children greeted her as soon as she stepped into the guest room.

"You're back!" Nikhil hugged her, "I thought he was going to eat you!"

Khushi gently patted the child on the back with a smile.

"He's not all that bad."

* * *

 _Author's Note: This piece is inspired by 'Teri Khair Mangdi' from the Baar Baar Dekho soundtrack._

 _I initially toyed with the idea of narrating from Arnav's POV, or at least taking a step back and allowing the reader to be in his mind, but for me, the power in the Sundari and Shaitaan episode is that the viewer sees Arnav's hurt and pain as framed by Khushi's. So I wanted to capture that here._

 _For me, the significance of the song lies in what Arnav is feeling during this encounter, but as Khushi is narrating it she doesn't see the depth of his conflict and hurt. She does a pretty good job of intuiting it though, I feel._


End file.
